16. Callum
CALLUM
M y hand moves up and down my cock as Atlas thrusts forcefully into my mouth. I’m lightheaded from being upside down, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is the desire to taste him on my tongue. To know that even when he’s fueled with anger, I can make him come undone.
Atlas seems to be under the impression that Mona has replaced him, but she hasn’t.
She fills spaces in my soul that he can’t.
And it’s not like this is one-sided; he wants her, too.
But he’s too scared to admit it. I’m not blind.
I see the way he stares at the screen as he fucks my mouth.
I bet he’s wishing my mouth was her pussy.
It’s agonizing to doubt your worthiness with your soulmate. Could we forget Mona and live relatively happily? Yes. I would never risk losing Atlas. He’s my constant in a world of turbulence. The problem isn’t happiness; it’s fulfillment. My soul desires them both to be complete.
“Do you think she could ever love you?” Atlas grits between clenched teeth as his hands abuse my swollen nipples.
To the casual observer, his behavior would seem abusive.
His actions may be born of anger, but his violent touch holds a healing component.
He needs to take, and I need to give. This is our balance.
Some people discuss their problems or seek therapy.
Atlas and I like to fuck it out. We have parameters and can make it stop.
We aren’t abusive; we’re just a little fucked up.
Atlas pulls out of me, his cerulean eyes glaring down at me. “Answer my question. Do you think she could ever love you?”
His question is a noose tightening around my neck, slowly draining the air from my lungs. “I think no one can love me.”
Atlas abandons my nipples and steps back. His face is ashen. “You think I don’t love you?”
I can’t discern his expression. Shock? Fear? Disgust?
I stand and slowly walk toward him, careful not to spook him with any sudden moves. Atlas, for all his bravado, still hides the broken boy inside him—the boy who only desired goodness and light but was thrust into the darkest evil.
He flinches, and a visible shudder runs through him as I cup his face. I hate the way he recoils from my touch. I never want Atlas to see my touch as anything but healing. Even with the violence of our sex, I need him to know it’s part of the construct of my love for him.
I ignore his struggle to free himself. Holding his head steady, I bring my forehead to his, peering into his crystal blue eyes.
With a rough shove, Atlas sends me stumbling.
“The thought of you believing I don’t love you is unbearable.
My fuckin’ heart started beating when I met you.
You’re the fuckin’ center of my soul. My life ignited when I met you, which is why I’m baffled about being drawn to her.
” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not even the part I care about.
She doesn’t think about us, Callum. She doesn’t want us.
We’re desperate for her, and she’s trying to forget we exist. We aren’t the ones who saved her.
We couldn’t even give her that. We had to get help.
We were cowards, and to make up for it, we made ourselves demons for her.
Shit, you killed a guy last week for what?
Not saying sorry when he bumped into her? ”
I feel like an asshole. Top of the line, piece of shit coming through .
I clear my throat. “He called her a bitch.”
It’s funny that even after all these years of being with Atlas, I still can’t handle him being upset.
Since the day he cracked open my heart, all I’ve wanted is to help him thrive.
He’s the first person I loved besides my mother.
Atlas's pain makes me panic, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to end it.
“What are you doing?” Atlas asks
I snap my pants and smooth my t-shirt. “She’s getting off work, and I don’t like the idea of her walking home late at night.” I lean in and kiss Atlas on the forehead. “Do you want to come with me?”
Atlas shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
I place a finger beneath his chin and tip his head back so his eyes meet mine. “I love you.”
He nods. “I love you, too.”