Chapter Twenty-One-Atlas
She tells me to take her.
And I do.
First, with my mouth.
Having my woman’s hot, dripping sex on my face is just about the best fucking thing I could ever imagine.
My hands gripping her lush curves, forcing her down harder while I plunge my tongue into her, needy sex.
“Fuck, Atlas,” she moans, and I am so there for it.
I squeeze her ass, probing her tiny, puckered hole with my pinky. She is so damn lush. So sexy. Her channel squeezes my tongue as I lick and suck and plunge into her, using my nose to press against her clit—and then she loses all inhibition.
Cecilia rocks against my face. And it is glorious.
She shouts my name as she comes, and it’s like a divine symphony.
I flip us over, need washing over me like a tidal wave.
But I’m not in a rush.
Not in a haze of lust so blinding I lose the meaning of this moment.
No, I want to take my time with her. I want her to know this means more than mere words.
Because this isn’t just about hunger or power or paybacks.
Not anymore.
This is about worship. Possession. Desperation.
I guide her gently down onto the bed, our bodies still touching, hands tangled. Her hair fans out across the silk sheets like dark fire, and her eyes—fuck, her midnight colored eyes—they lock on mine like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I won’t.
Not tonight.
Not ever, if I have any say in it.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” I murmur, brushing her hair back. “And you’re mine, Cece. Not his. Not Alfred’s. No one else’s. Just mine.”
Her breath stutters, and I feel her tremble beneath me. Not from fear.
From anticipation.
She deserves more than brute force. More than being taken. She deserves to be seen.
I lean down and kiss the tattoo on her wrist first—her little sun.
The one she got after he left her. After he made her doubt herself.
That prick is gonna get his.
But that’s all the time I’m giving him tonight. My head is too full of Cecilia for anyone else.
“You survived. You flourished without him,” I whisper against it. “And you will continue to rise, but not alone. Not anymore. Because now you have me. Together, we’re stronger.”
Then I work my way up—soft kisses, slow licks, little nips—until I’m at her collarbone, her jaw, her lips again.
She arches against me, heat pooling where our bodies brush, and I let her feel the strength of my desire.
The full weight of my need.
When I cup her breast through the silk, she gasps, and I finally lift the slip off her in one slow movement, revealing every inch of her to me.
My mouth goes dry.
My cock twitches painfully.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re so—goddamn, Cece.”
She gives a half-laugh, half-whimper, and I lower my head to taste her again.
Her nipples are already peaked, flushed and perfect. I suck one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the steel piercing it, feeling her fingers twist in my hair.
I give them both equal attention—worshipping, learning what makes her gasp and moan and whisper my name like it’s a prayer.
Then I move lower. Hungry for her all over again.
She’s already soaked for me.
I trail kisses down her belly, spreading her thighs and settling between them like it’s where I belong.
Because it is.
She bites her knuckle when I press a kiss to the snakehead inked across her mound, and I grin against her.
“Don’t hide from me,” I say. “I want to hear everything.”
Then, I taste her again. Slowly this time.
“I can’t,” she whimpers, but she’s lying.
We both know she can.
“I’m addicted to the taste of you, kardhoúla. Give me another. You can do it.”
Fuck me, she’s even more perfect than I thought.
Sweet. Silken. Addictive.
I eat her like a man starved, and when she cries out, her thighs shaking, her hands scrabbling for something to hold, I don’t stop.
I give her more.
I slide a finger inside her, curling just right, licking her through it until she comes undone—back arching, lips parting in a silent scream of pleasure that makes me ache to be inside her.
When she comes down, eyes dazed, cheeks flushed, I crawl up her body and kiss her again, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
“You’re mine now,” I growl against her lips. “Let me show you what that means.”
She nods.
And I push inside her in one slow, perfect thrust.
No condom. Nothing between us now.
And it feels like coming home.
For a prince without a country, that is saying something. But maybe I don’t need one.
Maybe I just need her.
Her body grips me so tight, so warm, it feels like she was made just for me. I still, shaking with the effort it takes not to lose it right there.
Her eyes fill with tears—not sadness, something else. Something that wrecks me.
“I’ve got you. Se echo, agapi mou,” I whisper, calling her my love in Greek. “Every second of tonight belongs to you.”
I move slow at first, letting us both feel every inch, every drag, every snap of heat between us.
But it builds. The emotion. The need.
She wraps her legs around me. Clutches at my back. Whimpers into my mouth as I thrust deeper, faster, harder.
I give her everything.
My obsession.
My desperation.
My heart, even if I don’t know how to say the words in English just yet.
Her back arches. She screams my name. Her pussy clamps down on my cock. And I spill inside her with a groan that sounds like her name.
Like a promise.
Like a man who’s finally found the one thing he didn’t know he needed.
And when she trembles in my arms afterward, when her lashes flutter closed and her breathing evens out, I don’t let go.
I can’t.
Because I know now—without question.
I’m not just hers tonight.
I’m hers always.
I am so in love with this woman, and that’s enough to scare a man like me half to death.
Because now I have something to lose.