Chapter 7 Atticus
Atticus
Iwake before dawn, a lifetime habit that not even the comfortable weight of Sloane curled against my side can disrupt. For a moment, I simply watch her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her honey-blonde hair spills across the pillow, the slight part of her lips as she breathes.
Something tightens in my chest at the sight. This isn't the first time I've woken up with a woman beside me, but it's the first time I've had no desire to slip away before she wakes, no strategic exit planned, no careful distancing already mapped out in my head.
Instead, I find myself wanting to stay exactly where I am, Sloane's warmth against me, her scent, vanilla and something uniquely her, surrounding me.
The realization should be terrifying. I've built my life, my career, on careful planning and emotional distance. Yet here I am, completely undone by the woman sleeping beside me, and I've never felt more certain of anything.
My phone buzzes softly on the nightstand, a reminder of the world beyond this room. I reach for it carefully, trying not to disturb Sloane as I check the screen.
Marcus, with his impeccable timing: Morning brief ready when you are. Council representatives were impressed with yesterday's presentation. Board requesting update call at 11.
I type back a quick acknowledgment, then another message: Have coffee and pastries delivered to my suite at 8. Two of everything.
His response is immediate, professional as always with just a hint of knowing: Consider it done. Anything else?
I glance at Sloane, still sleeping peacefully. Clear my morning schedule until 10.
Already taken care of. Enjoy your breakfast, sir.
I smile, setting the phone aside. Marcus knows me too well and has been managing my life with quiet efficiency for years. Of course he'd have already adjusted my schedule, anticipating that I'd want time with Sloane this morning.
She stirs beside me, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, then her gaze finds mine and a slow smile spreads across her face.
"Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
"Morning," I reply, unable to resist brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Sleep well?"
"Mmm, when you finally let me sleep." The teasing light in her eyes sends heat curling through me. "What time is it?"
"Early. Just after six."
She groans, burrowing deeper into the pillow. "Of course it is. Do you have some sort of internal CEO alarm that never lets you sleep past dawn?"
"Years of habit," I admit, tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. "Though I usually get up and work out. Today I'm making an exception."
"Lucky me." She stretches, the sheet slipping to reveal more of the skin I spent hours exploring last night. "So what's the plan? Rush back to HQ for early meetings?"
"Actually, I've cleared my morning until ten." I pull her closer, enjoying the way her body fits against mine. "Breakfast will be delivered at eight. That gives us nearly two hours to... recover from last night."
Her eyes darken at the implication. "Recovery, hmm? Is that what we're calling it?"
"Among other things."
"Such as?" She props herself up on one elbow, the sheet falling away completely now, leaving her gloriously bare from the waist up.
The sight of her, warm and tousled in the morning light, momentarily short-circuits my brain. She’s all bare skin and sleepy mischief, and I can’t form a single coherent thought.
“I’m finding it hard to be clever with you looking like that” I admit, voice rough.
“Good” she whispers, then leans in to kiss me, soft and lazy and unbearably intimate. “I like you better when you’re not overthinking.”
The kiss deepens without warning, her lips parting under mine as she shifts, climbing half onto me, her body hot and smooth against my skin.
Her fingers slide into my hair, curling around the back of my neck as her thigh slots between mine.
The friction is slow but devastating. I groan into her mouth.
“Is this recovery?” I murmur, voice already straining.
“More like... physical therapy” she says sweetly, her hand gliding under the sheet and finding me without hesitation. Her grip is sure, slow, teasing.
My breath stutters. “Sloane…”
“Yes?” she asks, all innocent breath and wicked fingers.
“You’re playing with fire” I warn, my voice more gravel than threat.
“Maybe I want to burn.”
That look in her eyes? It’s pure challenge.
I don’t hesitate. I flip us in one swift movement, pinning her beneath me with my weight, her laughter turning into a breathless gasp when I catch her mouth in a hungry kiss.
My hands sink into the mattress on either side of her head, keeping her right where I want her.
“Is this what you meant?” I ask, dragging my lips across her jaw, down her neck.
She moans, fingers tangling in my hair again, legs wrapping around my waist like she’s trying to pull me inside her. That’s all the permission I need.
I take my time with her. Every inch of skin is reacquainted with lips and teeth and tongue, every soft sound she makes feeding the heat simmering low in my gut.
When I reach her breasts, she arches into me, whimpering, and I don’t stop.
I suck, lick, bite, until she’s writhing, breath coming in ragged little bursts, her body begging.
“Atticus…” she breathes, voice cracking. “Please.”
“Please what?” I murmur against the curve of her breast, voice deliberately slow, dangerously soft.
“Touch me,” she says, hips lifting, desperate now. “I need you.”
I smile against her stomach and keep kissing lower. Her thighs part for me without question. I brush my fingers over her center, already wet, already waiting. “Like this?” I ask, stroking her slowly.
She gasps. “Yes… God, yes. Just like that.”
I watch her as I work her open, my fingers are slick, deliberate, and precise.
Her hips move against my hand, chasing every stroke, her mouth open in a soundless cry.
When I slide my mouth over her, replacing fingers with tongue, her reaction is instant.
She arches her back. Her hands are in my hair.
And a loud, broken moan I feel more than hear.
She comes undone slowly, then all at once, shaking beneath me, thighs trembling.
But I don’t stop. Not until her cries dissolve into whimpers, her hands tugging gently, unable to take more.
Only then do I crawl back up her body, kiss her again, make her taste herself on my tongue.
She moans into my mouth like she’s addicted to the flavor.
Her hand slides down between us, finds me again, and this time there’s no teasing. Just raw need.
“I want you,” she says, voice wrecked. “Now.”
I reach for the drawer, but her hand catches mine.
“No. I’m on birth control. I’m clean. I want to feel you.”
That undoes me more than anything else. The trust in those words. The invitation.
“I’m clean too,” I whisper, holding her gaze. “You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
She pulls me down with a grip that says no more waiting. Her legs wrap around me, guiding me in. I press forward, and when I finally sink into her bare, wet heat, it steals the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck, Sloane,” I groan, bracing myself over her as my body adjusts to the sheer intensity of being inside her like this. With no barriers. Just skin. Just her.
She pulls me down for another kiss, slow and dirty. Her hips roll beneath me, and I move. Deep, steady thrusts that make her moan into my mouth, nails digging into my back.
The rhythm builds, her body meeting every drive of my hips. I drink in the sight of her writhing beneath me, head thrown back, lips parted in ecstasy.
“Look at me.” I order softly, catching her face in my hands.
Her eyes flutter open. The moment our gazes lock, everything sharpens. Her body tightens around me, thighs gripping my waist.
“Atticus… I’m close.”
“Then come for me,” I whisper, fingers sliding down between us, circling her clit. “I want to feel you break.”
The moment my fingers hit that perfect rhythm, she shatters. Her entire body clamps down around me, and her cry of my name is wild, raw, breathtaking. I lose control a heartbeat later, slamming into her once more before release hits, pleasure crashing through me as I bury myself to the hilt.
We don’t move for a long moment. Her legs still locked around me. My body is heavy over hers, my head buried in her neck, breathing her in.
Eventually I roll to my side, pulling her with me, tucking her close. She curls against my chest with a quiet sigh, one hand sliding over my heart like she’s claiming it too.
And I let her.
"Well," she says after a moment, voice warm with satisfaction, "that's certainly one way to start the day."
I laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Better than my usual morning workout."
"I should hope so." She traces idle patterns on my chest, her touch sending pleasant aftershocks through me. "Though I'm not sure I can feel my legs."
"Mission accomplished, then."
She swats my arm playfully, but her smile is radiant. "Smug is not a good look on you, Morgan."
"Liar," I counter, capturing her hand and bringing it to my lips. "You love when I'm confident."
"There's confident, and then there's 'I just gave my girlfriend multiple orgasms' smug."
The word 'girlfriend' catches us both by surprise. She tenses slightly, eyes widening as if she hadn't meant to say it aloud.
"I mean...” she starts.
I silence her with a gentle kiss. "Girlfriend works for me," I assure her. "Unless you prefer 'partner in corporate domination and excellent morning sex'?"
Her laugh vibrates against my chest. "Too long for business cards."
"Valid point." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly serious. "Whatever label we use, Sloane, I'm all in. You know that, right?"
The vulnerability in her eyes as they meet mine nearly stops my heart. "Even though this complicates everything? The Winter Division, your career trajectory, your five-year plan?"