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Never, in all my time of exploring men, has one of them made me feel like this. Made me—feel—anything besides the satisfaction that follows any form of sexual release; then Atlas came along and punctured holes in the wall that I had spent so long building up.
With every thrust he made into me, another hole and another crack that fractured outward, threatening to shatter the foundation altogether.
I was so fucked.
Attempting to compose myself after what was quite possibly the most amazing fuck I’ve ever had, I scrambled out of Atlas’s arms and pulled my dress back down over my hips, searching the floor for the earpiece that I threw when we entered.
He found it before I could and picked it up, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me back against him so our chests touched. He brushed my hair away and gently placed it over my ear. I turned my head away from him, trying to think of something—anything—to say, but I was at a loss for words.
Before my parents’ accident, I believed in love. I believed in the happily ever after. I even dreamed of meeting Mr. Right and falling head over heels in love like the fairytales my Mom would read to me before bed.
My fairytale shattered the day they were taken from me, and I was shuffled off to another family. The day that the social worker uprooted me from my home, I swore that I would never allow love to destroy me ever again.
The pain I felt with the loss of them was more than I could bear. Being alone in the world, I knew I had to be resilient and strong. I needed to be unbreakable, and in doing so, I shoved any feelings of love into the dark recesses of my soul and blocked them off. I became a shell of what I used to be when they were alive.
I guess that’s what makes me so good at my job—because I harbor no feelings of compassion or love, I am free to blindly wreak havoc on others.
Love hurts and burns. It sears into the soul, leaving a mark that can never be entirely erased. I never thought I could ever commit myself to another—to love. But Atlas…
I don’t know how or when he did it, but he chipped away at that wall I had built, and now that softer side, the side that wants to love, was leaking out like a broken faucet. I was feeling emotions for him that I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
I wanted to keep him more than anything, but I wasn’t sure I was still capable of doing so. Could he even love someone like me? Or was I just a simple, quick, and easy fuck for him?
He grabbed my chin, tilting my face to look up at him, and I couldn’t help but get lost in his eyes once more.
“Are you going to say anything before running out on me?”
I couldn’t help but suck in a breath as his gaze swallowed me whole. I was drowning in the pool of his beautiful eyes and needed to come up for air.
“I—I have to get back to my shift.” I stuttered and broke our contact, pulling out of his grasp once more.
Just as my hand unlocked the door and pulled on the handle, he grabbed my arm and pressed me against the door, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“I know women like you, and I know I look like the good guy—but if you want a villain, I will be that for you—Let me ruin you, my sweet thing.” His voice was silk, laced in lust, dripping honey—all of the above. The problem was, I think he already did. I didn’t even argue with him calling me “his.”
He was breathing heavily as if his heart was beating so hard that it couldn’t keep up with him. My already spent core began to burn, blood pounding in my ears; I pressed my thighs together. Staring back up at him, I parted my lips to speak—my response dying in my throat—before pushing back on him, ripping the door open completely, and taking flight out of the room.
I was hot, scorching.
My blood was boiling me alive under my own skin.
I needed to get distance between us before I gave him more than I was willing to offer. I couldn’t think straight around him—his intoxicating scent and his captivating eyes. He had me lusting over him like a lovesick teenager, and a small part of me reveled in the fact that I had finally found the man who could blow my mind.
Without looking back to see if he followed me from the restroom, I turned the corner and slid to my spot behind the bar. Madison was waiting for me, tapping her fingers on her empty tray.
“Spike this last tray, Alexis says she’s ready to go, and frankly, so am I.” She demanded.
I nodded, clearing my throat, and began making the drinks on her notepad. I stuffed a couple of small white pills into the cherries and dropped them in the glasses. The pills would dissolve in the liquid, but the cherries hid them from sight better—just in case they were watching their drinks.
“So.” She twirled a loose tendril of hair around her finger as she stood there while I poured the drinks.
“So?” I echoed, trying to be as cool as possible, even though deep down, my adrenaline was surging over the exchange between Atlas and myself.
“Are you going to tell me about Mr. Gorgeous?” She leaned forward over the bar, amusement clear on her face, as I reached for the bottle of vodka on the rail.
“What about him?” I shrugged coolly and replaced the bottle after pouring a vodka tonic.
“Well, unless the two of you braided each other's hair and gossiped about celebrities, I’m assuming you two did a little more than just talk in that restroom—which, by the way, the coat check would have been a much better option,” I beg to differ.
