Chapter Thirteen

AJ

There was a definite shift since I finally told him my story. And, to a lesser extent, since he told me his.

I don't really think I realized how heavy the weight of keeping my past a secret was weighing on me until I told someone about it.

I mean, sure, I didn't tell him everything. Years of grooming and abuse couldn't be covered all in one conversation. But he knew enough to understand.

And, God, it felt good to be understood.

I'd kind of… hinted at an abusive ex when talking to Ella about her own ex, wanting her not to feel so alone, and feeling like she could unload on me and would be met with an understanding ear.

But I'd never outright told someone about Joss.

All the ugly details.

I think some part of me had been worried that if I told someone, they might look at me differently. For staying. For enduring. For not calling the police, pressing charges, getting myself out of that mess sooner.

Hell, there were times early on when I was thinking those things about myself. Before I even heard the term ‘grooming,' let alone understood it. Before the concepts of ‘love bombing' and ‘gaslighting' meant anything to me.

I'd been trying to understand, little by little over time, what had happened, why I had stayed, and what was driving Joss to continue to follow me around.

I knew that, eventually, I would benefit from some actual therapy. But until the day when I wasn't afraid of Joss being able to access my records came, I didn't feel safe going to see anyone.

I'd just been doing research on my own, going to forums for other abuse survivors, reading their stories, hearing what their therapists said that really helped them see the situation in a new light.

It all helped.

I knew there were times when I still cowered when faced with someone's possible disappointment and apologized for things that weren't my fault. Or even how I sought approval or validation because I'd been so starved of them.

But I'd come a long way.

Now, I hoped, with sharing my story, with not having to keep it like a dirty secret anymore, it would help me even more.

It wasn't that I wanted to talk about it constantly or anything like that. But if it came up. Or if I wanted to explain why I'd reacted a certain way. It was an option now with Atlas.

As for his backstory, well, that was pure insanity.

I mean, I did know from being around for as long as I had, that Navesink Bank was this unusual town full of interesting criminal organizations.

The Mallicks', of course. Loan sharks and enforcers. Essentially, kneecap-breakers.

Then Ella had mentioned once having a crush on a guy in school who belonged to the local MC. A club full of arms-dealing bikers.

I'd even heard rumors about the mafia in the area.

So, really, it wasn't so hard to believe that there was a family of former armed robbers in the town as well. Or that Atlas was one of them.

The only person I found it hard to believe had that past was Kingston himself. The man just seemed so calm, well-rounded, and kind. It was strange to imagine him younger and full of so much grief and vengeance that he would, essentially, lead his younger siblings into a dangerous scheme to get revenge.

That said, I guess some of the most interesting, non-judgmental, and kind people I'd met in my life were the ones who'd lived very unconventional lives.

Time had matured and softened Kingston. And, of course, his wife and kids likely only took him even further from that old life.

It wasn't hard for me to picture the grumpy Nixon as being that angry. Or even the jocular Rush being willing to partake.

I didn't know Scotti well enough to draw any conclusions.

As for Atlas, well, he was an adrenaline junkie. He liked all things dangerous. I imagined that a much younger version of him would be even more unruly, more prone to engage in questionable situations.

Besides, that was all the past.

I, more than most people, could understand how the people we once were, weren't the people we were now.

So I wasn't off-put by his confession.

If anything, it just seemed to intensify our bond.

That morning had been the first time in over a week that I'd had peaceful sleep.

Sure, maybe you could say it was because of the all-nighter. But I was inclined to believe it was because the tension in our house had dissipated.

I'd been half-awake when I heard Atlas softly knock on my door before pushing it open, and rolling inside to come over to my side of the bed.

He didn't immediately call out or try to touch me.

He seemed to sit there for a moment, looking at me. Something that had my belly wobbling. Especially after I realized that I'd somehow wiggled out from under the covers and was lying there in nothing but my panties and an old tee that was tight and worn soft from too many washings.

I swear I could feel his gaze drifting over my bare legs, the peekaboo effect of my shirt with my belly, and the way my breasts were straining against the material, my nipples pebbled underneath, thanks to the chill in the room.

He didn't try anything, though.

And I couldn't tell you why I was so disappointed about that fact as his fingers lightly brushed some hair out of my face.

"Time to get up," he said, voice soft.

It was then I remembered that I only had a few minutes to get up and get to work, so the magic of the moment fell completely away, leaving me rushing around to do a quick body wash, get dressed, and make my way out, leaving Samson with Atlas, since it would only be a few hours.

In my hand was a little brown baggie full of snacks and a sandwich Atlas had actually prepped for me.

And I think I fell a little bit in love with him right then and there.

When I got home that evening, Atlas was showered, changed, had done some cleaning, and ordered dinner.

Which we ate on the couch, watching one of his favorite movies.

It was just so… domestic.

Comfortable.

Like it was before the whole distance thing, but better. Because there were no secrets between us anymore.

I ended up, just like the last time, falling asleep right there beside him, eventually curling off to the other side, my legs finding their way up and onto his lap.

I couldn't say how much later it was, but I woke up to the feel of his fingers gently massaging my foot, thumb pressing in at my perpetually achy arch.

I hadn't been prepared for the way desire sparked through my system at the chaste touch. It was like there was a little, shivery thread of desire from my foot right to my core.

I didn't move.

I didn't even open my eyes.

I just lay there still, not wanting to do anything that would stop him as his fingers continued to work magic on my one foot, before switching to the other.

His fingers drifted up to my ankles, just a soft touch that hit a tickle spot, making my body jerk as my eyes shot open.

"Feet are fine, but the ankles, those get you," he said, shooting me a soft smile as his fingers teased up my legs, over my calves, finding no other spots until he reached the underside of my knee, making my leg kick out, my foot slamming into the arm of the couch.

"Anywhere else?" he asked, amused by finding little hot spots like that, but not exploiting them, not tickling and teasing as I squirmed and begged for him to stop.

"I don't know," I admitted, taking a deep breath as his fingers moved up over my knees.

Sure, I'd been with Joss for years.

But he never seemed interested in actually exploring my body. To him, there were only three interesting parts of the female anatomy, and he used them to his pleasure, not to try to learn about mine.

As silly as it was, given I was far from a virgin, this felt new and exciting as Atlas's fingers drifted up over my thigh, his fingers moving in a side-to-side motion that made me wish I hadn't slipped on my thick sweatpants, and had opted for the thin, silky ones. Or none at all.

Without any thought at all, one of my legs fell open, inviting a more intimate touch, and I felt Atlas run his fingertips up the inner side of my thigh, making that sensation in my core intensify.

But just as I was sure his fingers would move between, would touch me where I was aching for it, he shifted away, teasing over the waistband of my pants, then up my belly until he couldn't reach anymore. Stopping a disappointing inch from the underside of my bra.

When I thought the sweet exploration might just end like that, though, Atlas's fingers slid back down my belly toward my pants, but this time, he hooked the material. And, gaze on mine, watching for anything that didn't resemble whole-hearted consent, he started to draw them down.

Anticipation sizzled across my nerve endings.

And there was the slightest twinge of uncertainty, of discomfort at something new, that I quickly squashed down, the other part of me too turned on and intrigued to deny myself this because of some frazzled nerves.

My feet pressed into the arm of the couch, allowing me to bridge upward a few inches, so he could draw the pants down over my ass, before continuing to slide them down my thighs, legs, and off of each ankle.

Finished, he looked back at me, eyes heated, as his fingers once again started at my ankles and moved upward, but this time avoiding the places he knew tickled. Intent, it seemed, on creating an entirely different sensation in my body.

He'd barely reached my knee when I had to admit that he'd accomplished his goal.

My body felt overheated, yet goosebumpy, and there was this deep pressure in my core that made it hard to think of anything but the relief of it as my thighs pressed together to try to ease the ache between.

Until Atlas's fingers were drifting up the inside of my knee, making my legs shamelessly fall open once again, inviting more.

He was happy to oblige, his fingers tracing the same path up to the innermost part of my thigh.

Then, making a jolt of desire course through me, teasing the line where my panties met my thigh, following it up to my hip, across my belly, and then down the other side.

My hips writhed restlessly, and I watched as Atlas's eyes blazed at my reaction. Like he, somehow, was turned on by my desire, not just by what I could do for his.

Gaze on me, his hand shifted inward, his fingers barely grazing the wet material between my thighs.

A low, throaty moan escaped me at the barely-there touch, making Atlas suck in a greedy breath, then tease his fingers over me again. And again.

Until, finally, what felt like several tormenting hours later, his fingers pressed against me, giving me the friction and pressure I was aching for.

My hips rocked into the touch as his thumb started to work little circles around my clit through my panties, creating a fire that flared through every part of me.

His own breathing was almost as frantic as mine, and I became fascinated by the way a muscle was suddenly ticking in his jaw. His own desire making his body tense.

Still, though, he stayed focused on me, on what he could create in my body.

His fingers left for one tortured moment, making a grumbling sound escape me that had his lips turning up at the corners.

But the disappointment only lasted a moment because in the next breath, his fingers were sliding inside my panties, touching me without a barrier.

The contact of his thumb on my clit had me nearly coming undone right then and there.

"So wet for me," Atlas murmured, voice thick, as he continued to rub those delicious, small circles.

His other fingers, though, started to slide down my cleft, finding the entrance to my body, and pressing firm little taps against it.

Until I was writhing, until my whimpers became more desperate, almost pained, as the need to feel him inside of me stole any other thoughts from my mind.

Then, little by little, I felt his fingers start to slide inside of me, creating the friction I was so desperate for until his fingers were buried deep.

His gaze shifted from my face, sliding down my body, then settling between my thighs, watching as his fingers started to withdraw, then slip all the way back in, the sensation dragging a ragged moan from my lips as my walls tightened around him.

"You feel so good," he murmured, withdrawing, then slipping in again.

I didn't pretend to understand how I could feel good to him when I wasn't even touching him, but I was too far gone for pesky things such as logic to ruin the heady haze of desire I found myself engulfed by.

All I knew at that moment was the feel of his fingers inside of me, the touch of his thumb working circles.

"Are you going to come for me?" he asked, even as my body tightened, answered him for me. "Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned as my body tensed, as my moans became these airy, desperate sounds I'd never heard myself make before.

Until, like a jolt of electricity through my body, the orgasm crested, making me cry out, making my muscles tense, then spasm as the pleasure gripped my system.

His fingers kept working me through it, dragging it out until I was lax against the cushions, limbless, unable to move, to think, to do anything but feel the frazzled sensation in my nerves, and the way my chest was rising and falling, trying to find a normal rhythm again.

It was then I realized his fingers were still inside of me, a slight fullness I became achingly aware of with each passing second. As my body, somehow, started to climb once again. Without movement. Without any prompting.

Seeming to feel the change, his fingers started to move inside of me, little circles that had my hips writhing to intensify the sensation.

"Come here," he demanded, voice soft, patting his lap with his free hand.

I expected him to withdraw his fingers for me to complete the task, but they stayed inside of me as he quickly lowered my panties, then as I pushed up to my knees, then lifted my leg to straddle his waist.

His fingers moved faster then as his other hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, then sealing his lips to mine.

There was nothing in the world then but the feel of him—his hard lines against my soft ones, the movement of his fingers inside of me—the taste of his lips on mine as he deepened the kiss, the scent of his cologne, subtle, yet intoxicating up this close.

"No," I whimpered, when suddenly his fingers were sliding out of me, making me push back, watching him with confused eyes, wondering what I could have done wrong.

But as I watched, his hand lifted between us, his fingers slipping into his mouth, tasting me, making my belly tense with a different sort of desire. At seeing a man seeming to savor the taste of my desire. Which only seemed to intensify it until it was an actual pain I couldn't ignore.

Finished, his hands went down, snagging the hem of my tee, then waiting a beat for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he drew the material up, exposing me inch by inch.

The chill in the room mingled with the heat inside of me, making my nipples harden into points as Atlas tossed the shirt away.

Finished with the task, his gaze moved down over me, and his breath exhaled with a hiss, his head shaking a bit. Almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing as his hands drifted up my belly to cup my breasts.

My head fell back as a soft moan escaped me. My eyes drifted closed as he held me, as he ran his palms over me. Then, as his thumbs found my nipples, and started to circle me.

"AJ," Atlas called, voice soft. "Look at me," he demanded, tone coaxing, not demanding, making my eyes open to find him watching me as his thumbs and forefingers started to roll my nipples.

The unexpected sensation had my hips jerking against him, changing their placement, so now I felt the proof of his desire pressing against me.

My hips were doing another rock against him before I could even think better of it, and the thick length of him pressing hard against me had a jolt of desire so strong moving through me that I had to focus to think past the idea of him sliding inside of me, filling me.

"Beautiful," Atlas murmured, leaning in so his lips met the nape of my neck, making a delicious little shiver course through me.

His hands released my breasts, and I was overwhelmed by the disappointment for only a moment, until the feel of his lips and the tease of his tongue on my ear, neck, and collarbone created a different sort of pleasure.

His hands drifted down my back, sinking into my bare ass, and using it to grind me against him every once in a while. But not nearly enough.

Atlas's hair tickled over my breasts as his lips moved down my chest, making a little shiver move through me as I found myself leaning backward, arching toward him.

He wasted no time, his face going between my breasts for a second, then shifting, and sucking my nipple into his mouth, dragging a loud moan out of me.

He teased me for what seemed like forever, sucking, tracing with his tongue, grazing with his teeth. Then moving across my chest to continue the sweet torment.

"Atlas," I whimpered as he moved back up, his lips at my neck as his hands kept dragging me over him again and again.

"Hmm?" he murmured, the sound vibrating against my skin.

"I want…" I started, now shamelessly writhing against him, trying to get some relief from the clawing sensation inside.

"What do you want, baby?" he murmured, voice thick, and I could feel just how much he wanted it too. "Tell me," he demanded softly as his lips pressed to the corner of my mouth. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," I whispered, feeling my face getting hot, not used to talking during intimate moments.

"You have me," he said, kissing the other side of my mouth.

"No, I…" I started, looking for the courage to say what I wanted, knowing I wouldn't get it until I did. "I want you inside me," I said.

His hips bucked up against me, his cock hitting my clit hard, dragging a loud moan out of me.

"Yeah, you do," he said, his lips claiming mine.

His one arm anchored around my hips as he leaned forward, bending my back, making me grab him around the neck to not fall backward as he reached toward the coffee table.

His wallet had been tossed there, and I felt him fumble around with it for a moment, before finding what he was seeking, then coming back with me.

My own hands grew bolder then, moving over his shoulders, across his chest, then down his stomach, feeling him tense at the touch, his gaze burning bright as I grabbed the hem of his shirt, and started to draw it up.

I'd seen him without his shirt before, but it felt different now, and my fingers traced the indents of his abdominal muscles, over his ribs, now free of bruises, then moved lower, tracing over the waistband of his pants.

I scooted back, a part of me crying out at losing the contact of him, but it allowed me to draw his pants down as far as the position would allow.

I didn't even hesitate, my desperation making me brave, reaching under the waistband of his boxer briefs, and freeing his cock, watching it as it sprang free, long, thick, and straining for me.

My gaze flicked to his as my hand reached out, closing around him.

His lips parted, his breath exhaling, and his eyes nearly going closed as I stroked him down to the hilt.

"That feels good, baby," he murmured, and his words were a shivering sensation through my system, emboldening me, making me work him with more enthusiasm, loving the way his face and body tensed, how his eyes burned.

Until his hand grabbed my wrist, pulling me away.

A disappointed sound escaped me, before I saw him reach for the condom, bringing it up to his lips to bite it open.

Anticipation unfurled inside of me as he reached between us, protecting us, then fisting his cock, holding it for me as his other hand went behind me, urging me forward again.

There was a second of uncertainty, but the second I felt the head of his cock tease my cleft, all of that flew away with the sudden need to feel him inside of me.

My gaze slid to his, watching his dark eyes as I slowly started to lower down, my mouth parting in an O as his head fell back, letting out a groan of pleasure as he entered me, as my walls tightened around him, drawing him deep.

"Fuck," he groaned when he was nestled deep. "You feel so good," he added, his hands going to my ass, squeezing.

And, God, he did too.

I never could have anticipated how right it would feel to have someone inside of me when I truly wanted it.

A whimper escaped me in response, making his lips curve up slightly.

"Ride me, baby," he murmured.

"I don't want to hurt you," I said, feeling his thick, hard cast against my leg.

"You won't," he assured me, rocking his hips upward, making a moan escape me, and immediately erasing my reservations as the need overtook me.

It took me a moment to figure out what felt best, never having been in control before, but once I did, all thoughts about being gentle with him seemed to fly right out of my head.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned as I rode him harder, faster, feeling that telltale tightening inside, knowing I was close, desperate to feel myself fall apart with him inside of me. "That's it. Come for me," he encouraged.

Just like that, I did, crying out, gasping for breath, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure that seemed to ping off every nerve ending.

"Oh, fuck," Atlas growled, his hips rocking up into me, dragging it out, and as I collapsed against him, his body stiffened as he came with me.

I felt wrung out, yet somehow energized as my face buried in his neck, feeling his arm drape across my hips, and his heartbeat hammering against me.

Inexplicably, I felt the wetness flood my eyes, and before I could blink them away, they were slipping over my lower lids, down my cheeks, and onto his skin.

Feeling it, Atlas tensed under me, his fingers flexing on my hip.

"Are those bad tears?" he asked, as if knowing there was the potential for good ones.

My head shook.

Because, God, the last thing they could be were bad.

I was overwhelmed by the good.

Of this.

Of him.

Of the potential of us.

"Okay," he said, his other hand going to the back of my neck, fingers rubbing, silently accepting the stream of happy tears until they ran dry.

Eventually, he turned, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"I think we should move to the bed now," he said. Then, just in case, "If you want me there."

I did.

More than anything.

"Alright, hop up," he demanded, giving my ass a playful pat, and I climbed off, falling to my ass on the couch.

He tucked himself away, then transferred pretty effortlessly to the chair, and rolled himself down the hallway and into the bathroom.

Alone, I gathered my clothes, and brought them with me to the bedroom.

"You're not gonna need those," Atlas said, coming up behind me as I debated slipping them back on.

Then, as if to prove his point, he moved to the side of the bed, stood, and started to draw down his own pants.

He left on the boxer briefs, likely because getting them down over the cast would be a hassle, then got into the bed, patting the spot beside him.

I didn't hesitate.

I rushed in, then curled into his side, flooded with a warmth that I didn't really even have a name for.

But as I drifted off to sleep with his hand sifting through my hair and his heartbeat beneath my ear, I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what it might be.

Love.