Page 77 of Becoming Us
Heat climbed up my already flushed neck. “Sorry. That might’ve been a bit much. I was just venting a little.”
Atty took a step toward me. “Does it help?”
“A lot, yeah.” The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but it had quieted. And right now, with the way he was looking at me—something like awe written across his face—other emotions were starting to take precedence.
Another step. “Are you going to keep going?”
“No, that might’ve been enough. My arms are sore.”
His gaze dropped. I felt it like static along my skin as he looked me over. Lingering. Dragging. Reverent.
Fuck.
I couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at me like that. Quickly, everything started to blur intowant. Atticus King was looking at me like I was a fucking superhero, and it made my chest swell about a million sizes too big. I’d missed this. I’d missedhim.
My lips felt dry—my whole throat felt dry—and I stuck my tongue out to wet them. His gaze tracked the motion, magnetized. He closed the distance between us until we were just a foot apart. I was already on my feet, head tilted back to keep staring at him.
There wasn’t a sharp snap, no sudden electricity—just a quiet, sure surrender, and a single thought:fuck it.
I pushed him gently onto the bed and climbed into his lap while his hands found my hips like they belonged there. Our mouths met, and the world stopped spinning.
Yes.
His kiss started slow, letting me savor him, letting me keep the pace—to reallyfeelall of his intensity. Then his hands tightened, and in a blur, I was flipped onto my back, his weight settling between my legs. When his lips came back to mine, itwas rougher. The power shifted, and I gave in, letting him take over the way he’d been craving lately.
He feltsogood.
As soon as his shirt hit the floor and his skin pressed to mine, it was like my brain hit pause. Everything narrowed to him. To us.
A second later, our shorts were gone too, and our bodies writhed together, chasing the high we gave each other. He reached for my shirt, but with the room still faintly lit, I tugged it down, and he soon forgot about it—distracted by the slow drag of his hands over my ribs, down my back. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d made me feel like this—like a swipe of his tongue could erase everything and all I had to do was hold on to that rush and nothing else in the world mattered?—
My eyes snapped open.
Oh, fuck.
“Atty, slow down,” I said as his kisses trailed down to my neck.
His hands kneaded my ass, pulling me against him as his hips rolled over mine.
“Fuck.”
He bit down on my skin before returning to my lips, devouring them.
Gone was the soft, tentative Atty. This version of him was feral with want. His hands moved with a new urgency. It still felt good, but something was off. Something I’d been trying to name for a while but hadn’t managed to.
Until now.
Because in the shadow of that phone call, it was suddenly clear what we were both trying to do.
“Atty,” I said again, turning my face away.
He grabbed my chin, holding me still. That didn’t feel like him either.
I pushed at his shoulders. “Let’s slow down.”
He shook his head and reached past me toward the nightstand. I shot my hand up and slammed the drawer shut before he could grab anything.
Thesnapechoed.
