Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I took in everything with a quick glance as I closed and locked the door.
Atlas had a new couch.
He’d purchased it last month with Auden, and Auden had told me all about how picky Atlas had been during the shopping experience.
I’d laughed at his use of the term ‘passive aggressive,’ not surprised in the least that Atlas was a grumpy bastard.
The walls, which were a soft white, reflected harshly against the darkness outside paired with the bright white light of the fluorescent recessed lighting above our heads.
That was all I took in, though, as I made my way to the kitchen where Atlas was now pouring himself a shot of whiskey.
“You can have one,” I said to him. “But don’t drink anything more than that. If you need to go back tonight, you need to be sober enough to do so.”
Atlas paused, his drink halfway filled, then carefully pulled the bottle away from the glass.
He capped the bottle, then took the glass in his hand and dumped the contents out into the sink.
He placed the glass into the sink, then dropped down so that his elbows were resting on the counter, head in his hands.
I set out the tacos on his black granite countertops then started eating.
I was through my third one when he pulled away, grabbed a taco, and ate it in two bites.
“You’ll get no enjoyment out of eating if you eat that fast,” I pointed out.
It was something that I’d always noted about him.
Something that I’d often wondered about.
“I had to learn really quickly to eat fast,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast. “If I didn’t, then my brothers got my food.”
“Your parents wouldn’t have let you starve,” I interjected.
“No,” he agreed. “But it was survival of the fittest at the Carter house.” His face dropped. “I didn’t even know about him, yet I feel like I’ve already failed him as a parent.”
I turned on the bar stool, my legs now pointed at him, and leaned against the counter as I said, “How do you feel about having a baby, Atlas?”
His eyes came to me. “I can’t say that I would’ve wanted one out of wedlock. But now that I know about him, I want him. I want him away from his mother’s machinations. I want him in my home, safe in my arms, where I can protect him.”
“What are you going to do when he wakes up and he doesn’t know you?” I wondered.
He sighed. “That’s something I’m not ready to think about yet.”
He picked up another taco and ate that one just as fast.
He continued like that until all nine tacos were gone.
Picking up the trash, I took it all to the garbage can and turned, just to find him right there, almost on top of me.
“What…”
He pulled me in at the waist. “Give me something to focus on.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that wasn’t a good idea, but he took full advantage and kissed me.
There was a lot of tongue.
Lots of heat.
Lots of passion.
He kissed me like a dying man desperate for his last breath.
I didn’t stand a chance against him.
I never could.
That was why I was there, in that fucked up situation, letting him use me when I should’ve been setting him back on his heels and taking off.
But I couldn’t do that to him.
I couldn’t leave him there, hurting and scared, when I could give him some semblance of respite.
My hands wove around his neck, threading upward into the messy brown hair, and I held on tight.
“Take me to the bedroom,” I pleaded.
He took me to the bedroom.
I was exhausted, but in the best way possible.
My limbs felt heavy, my eyes were half-closed, and my heart was just starting to come down from what he’d just done to my body.
Speaking of what he’d done to my body, something my mom had said a long time ago popped into my head.
I snickered.
“What are you over there laughing about?” Atlas grumbled darkly.
Still in a bad mood.
Noted.
I looked at him and shrugged. “Nothing.”
He rolled over and pinned my arms to my hips with his knees, then started tickling me.
I might or might not have made the weirdest sound I’d ever made.
“Tell me,” he urged, eyes intense.
I took pity on him and told him.
Turning over to my side to face him, I said, “One of the last times my mom and I talked, she said, ‘If you find a girl who makes you laugh, keep her. Girls aren’t funny. If you find a guy who gives you an orgasm, keep him. Guys aren’t good at that.’”
“Men are. Boys aren’t,” he countered. “But girls aren’t funny. She was right about that.”
I flipped him off, then bucked my hips and dumped him onto the ground beside the bed.
He stared at the ceiling in shock before he jackknifed up and caught me by the leg before dragging me down there with him.