Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong?” Atlas asks, reaching for my hand.
I let him take my icy hand in his hot one. He tugs until I’m sitting on his lap. I pull my hand from his grip to loop it over his shoulders. His head tilts up, waiting for a kiss. Affection with him comes all too easy for me. I press my lips to his waiting ones. He tastes like his cherry limeade chapstick.
One of his arms wraps around my body, and his other hand cradles my jaw. In his arms, it feels like nothing else matters. It’s safe and secure. I’m happy.
Tears burn at my eyes, but I quickly blink them back. He senses my shift in mood, though, because he pulls back from our kiss, concern etched in his expression. His eyebrows crash together, and his barn red lips purse.
“Tell me,” he instructs. “Everything.”
“Nothing. Just missed you, is all.” I force a smile. “I bought a desk today.”
“Jarrett’s?”
“How’d you guess?”
“IKEA won’t do for my boyfriend.”
My heart flutters each time he calls me that. “My taste is more sophisticated.”
“Hence why you’re in charge of decorating our house.”
Our house.
God. It’s so easy to pretend like life’s perfect when I’m with him. That people like Jeremy Powers and Ned Townsend and Terry Larson don’t exist. It’s just us. Fantastic sex life, easy banter, and moments like this. Me in his lap, kissing his sexy mouth.
I’ve had ideas of sucking his dick right in front of the window or something equally scandalous, but now that I’m in his arms, all I want to do is suck in his warmth.
I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes. It would be great to stay like this forever.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he promises, his words barely a whisper. “I promise.”
Dante and Shelly have told me that a million times over the past year. This is the first time I believe it.
“If you say so,” I whisper, too close to tears for my liking.
“I know so, sweetheart. Trust me.”
Atlas
One Month Later…
The house smells good. Really good. Callan isn’t exactly a great cook, but he’s been baking Christmas desserts lately that are fantastic. He’s going to make me fat, and I don’t even give a shit. After the boring-ass shift last night, I’m thankful to come home to the scent of cinnamon and coffee. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Frank Sinatra plays from the Bluetooth speaker Callan set up in the kitchen a while ago.
Coming home to Callan every morning is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. My entire life has been about doing something to get me by for the time being. Friends and lovers came and went. Hell, same with family. This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to plant roots. To stay in the moment. To get comfortable.
Sparkles meows at my feet, lashing his tail impatiently. I scoop up the little prince, hugging him to me and kissing the top of his head.
“What’s your daddy up to in the kitchen?” I ask Sparkles in my kitty papa voice he loves. “Is he making Papa something yummy?”
Sparkles purrs, nuzzling his head against my neck. As much as I hated the idea of taking this animal home the day Cato guilted him on me, I’m glad I did. Sparkles is a cool-ass cat who’s excited every day to see me.
With my cat in my arms, I walk into the kitchen. As soon as Callan comes into view, I bite on my bottom lip, enjoying the view.
He’s cute as hell, elbows on the counter with his ass sticking out as he looks down at his phone. Beside him is a mixing bowl and on the other side is a muffin pan. I can tell from the oven light that he’s got a batch going right now. He’s been busy, that’s for damn sure.
What has me speechless is what he’s wearing.
Today is a red and green day.
So. Fucking. Adorable.
Because he loves to taunt me first thing when I get home from a long shift, he’s wearing a lacy pair of red panties. Usually, he doesn’t wear underwear at all, but since when we’ve been getting kinky, he now proudly puts on whatever I offer him. He has a drawer full of stuff that looks so fucking hot on him. His long-sleeved shirt is bright green and looks to be a bit of a crop-top because a lot of his lower back is showing. On his feet, he’s wearing some ankle socks with candy canes on them.
Festive as fuck.
I set Sparkles down and then prowl over to my boy.
Mine.
He squeaks in surprise when I cage him in from behind, pressing my growing erection into his backside.
“Someone looks good enough to eat,” I growl, sliding a hand under the front of his shirt and pulling his back to my chest. “Yum.”