It just happened, as if we moved toward each other at the same time. One of his hands slips around to the back of my head, and the other goes directly to my lower back, so low that his fingers are skimming over my panties.
I wrap both my arms around his neck and pull him to me so hard, we stumble into a line of clothes. Atlas rights us again, but I can feel his smile in his kiss. He pulls far enough away from my mouth so that he can speak. “What is it with you and closets?” Then he kisses me again.
We make out in the closet for a few minutes, and it’s everything I remember about all the times we used to sneak make-out sessions when we were younger. The desire, the thrill, the newness of doing things you’ve never done, or in this case, haven’t done in a long time.
It reminds me of how much I loved being in a bed with him. Whether we were kissing or talking or doing other things, the memories I made with him in my bedroom are some of my absolute favorite memories. He’s kissing my neck when I whisper, “Take me to my bed.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He slides his hands down my ass and grips my thighs, hoisting me up. He carries me out of the closet, across the bedroom, and then plants me onto my mattress where he proceeds to climb on top of me.
The feel of him against me only makes me more desperate for him, but he treats this like he used to treat our make-out sessions. With patience and appreciation—like making out is enough, and that it’s a privilege just to be kissing me.
I don’t know where he finds that patience, because I kind of want him to take off his clothes and treat me like this is his only chance to have me.
Maybe he would if he thought that—but we both know this is just the beginning. He’s taking it slow because I asked him to. I’m sure if I asked him to go faster, he would do that, too.
Considerate Atlas.
We eventually come to a point where we have to make a decision. I have a condom in my drawer, and he probably has a little time before he needs to leave, but when we stop kissing long enough to look at each other, he shakes his head. We’re both breathing heavily, and a little worn out from being so worked up for so long, so he rolls off me and falls onto his back.
He’s still dressed. I’m still in my bra and underwear. We never got further than that.
“As much as I want to,” he breathes, “I don’t want to have to leave right after.” He rolls onto his side and places a hand on my stomach. He’s looking down at me with eyes that are unsatisfied, like he wants to say, Never mind, and ravish me.
I sigh and close my eyes. “Sometimes I hate responsibility.”
Atlas laughs, and then I feel him move closer. He kisses the corner of my mouth and says, “I don’t have to leave yet.” When he says that, his index finger slips beneath the hem of my panties, right below my belly button. He drags it back and forth, waiting for a reaction.
I lift my hips, hoping that’s enough of a conversation.
Every part of my body feels like it’s on fire when he slips two more fingers into my underwear. Then, when his entire hand makes the move, I’m a goner. I release a trembling breath and grip the sheet at my sides, arching my back and my hips up and against his hand.
He brings his mouth to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He remains close to my lips, using the movement of my hips and the sounds of my moans to guide him toward the finish.
He’s extremely intuitive. It doesn’t take me long at all before I’m tensing around his hand, pulling his neck down so that I can kiss him through the end of it.
When it’s over, he slides his hand out of my panties but then cups me there, leaving his hand over me while I recover. My chest is heaving as I try to catch my breath.
Atlas is breathing heavily, too, but I need a minute to recover before I can do anything about it.
“Lily.” Atlas kisses me gently on the cheek. “I think you…” He pauses, so I open my eyes and look at him. He shifts his eyes to my breasts, and then back at my face.
Then he pulls at his white shirt and looks down at it and I see there’s some kind of stain on it.
Oh, shit.
I look down at my bra and it’s soaking wet. Oh my God. Breast milk. Everywhere. I am such an idiot.
Atlas doesn’t seem at all fazed by it. He rolls off the bed and says, “I’ll give you some privacy.”
I’m a little mortified that my bra is covered in breast milk, so I grab the sheet and cover my chest with it before meeting Atlas at the foot of my bed. It kind of killed the mood. “Are you leaving?”
“Of course not.” He kisses me and then leaves the room as if it’s completely normal for a man to make out with a woman who is breastfeeding a baby that isn’t even his. It has to be at least a little awkward for him, but he covers it well.
I spend the next several minutes in the bathroom pumping, and then I take a quick ten-second shower. I throw on an oversized T-shirt and some pajama shorts before heading back into my living room.
Atlas is sitting on my couch, waiting patiently with his phone in his hand. When he hears me enter the living room, he glances up at me and looks me up and down. I’m still a little embarrassed, so when I sit next to him, I don’t sit right next to him. I sit, like, two feet from him, and then I mutter, “Sorry about that.”
“Lily.” He can sense my embarrassment, so he reaches for me. “Come here.” He settles against the couch and pulls my leg over his so that I’m straddling him. He slides his hands up my thighs, to my waist, and lets his head fall lazily against the couch. “Everything about tonight was perfect. Don’t you dare apologize.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re being nice. I got breast milk on you.”
Atlas slides a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me to him. “Yeah, while we were making out. Trust me, I don’t mind one bit.” He kisses me after that, which might be a mistake because here we go again.
It’s going to be impossible for him to leave at this rate. I probably should have put on another bra, but I honestly thought I was going to the living room to tell him goodbye. I didn’t know we were going to pick up where we left off on the couch, but I don’t mind it at all.
We’re situated so perfectly, we don’t even have to adjust to get the most out of this position. He groans during our kiss, and that just urges me on even more.
One of Atlas’s hands slides up the back of my shirt, and I can feel him hesitate when his hand never meets a bra. He pauses our kiss and looks me in the eye. I’m still moving against him, and the way he’s looking at me is piercing my core. He starts to move his hand from my back around to my breast. When he cups it in his hand, that seems to flip a switch in him. In both of us.
Our kiss turns feverish as I start to unbutton his shirt. Nothing else is said. We just frantically remove every piece of clothing left between us, and we don’t even bother moving to the bedroom. We barely pause the kissing when he reaches for his wallet and pulls out a condom and puts it on.
And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Atlas kisses me while he pushes into me, and I feel every bit as loved as I did the first time this happened between us. There are so many feelings that come out in this moment, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything so chaotically beautiful when we’re finally connected.
He sighs against my neck, like the same feelings are running through him. He starts to move in and out, slowly, kissing me gently the whole time. But several minutes later, the kisses are frantic and we’re both sweaty, and I am so completely and wholly in the moment, nothing else matters to me other than the fact that we’re together again, and it’s right. Everything about this is so right.
I’m exactly where I belong, being loved by Atlas Corrigan.
Chapter Twenty-Three Atlas
