Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Betty
Narrator: That’s all he needs tonight?
Who is he kidding?
I think we all know where he thought that request was going. He was probably thinking an innocent request to take his shirt off could lead to so much more, especially after those finger swivels on his abdomen. Surprised he didn’t go hard just from her slight breath on his chest.
I don’t think he’s content with just holding her.
I bet he would at least want a kiss.
Then again, it’s Max. He tends to live in a land of delusion.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Oh God.
I’m resting my head on his naked chest.
I can’t believe I was bold enough to even ask him to take his shirt off.
The request fell past my lips, and I immediately felt my cheeks go red, but then he took his shirt off without a problem, and now I’m lying here, plastered to his naked torso, my hand on his chest, and I have no idea what to do.
Do I tell him the dentist-approved toothbrush was one of the best I’ve ever used? Because it was.
Do I tell him that his clothes smell like a mixture of Tide laundry detergent and pine trees? Because dear God, it’s the best smell ever.
Do I tilt my head up, lightly kiss him on the jaw, and say good night? Because that seems like something that I could make happen, but I don’t know if we’re at a kissing point right now.
Sure, we’ve kissed before, under mistletoe and mistakenly on his porch, but there is no mistletoe in this room; I’ve looked around.
And of course, he said things to me tonight that have led me to believe that if I did kiss him, he’d kiss me back, but if he wanted to kiss me good night, wouldn’t he have done it already?
God, why is this so hard?
“Are you warm?” he asks, startling me out of my thoughts.
“Yes,” I squeak. “I mean, yes, I’m warm. Thank you. And thank you for caring for me.”
“Thank you for letting me care for you.”
“Thank you for even thinking about caring for me.”
He chuckles. “Are you as nervous as I am?”
I sit up again, shocked. And this is why I like this man so much, because he’s not afraid to say how he feels.
He’s not trying to be some macho alpha male, walking around town, staking his claim.
No, he can admit to his feelings. He can be goofy.
He can lie here on this mattress and feel just as many nerves as me—at least I hope he is.
“You’re nervous?”
He chuckles again. “Yeah, I’m fucking nervous.”
“Why are you nervous? I know why I’m nervous, but you . . .”
“Because, Betty, after this morning, I didn’t think that you’d even talk to me, and now you’re here, in my house, sharing a bed with me. I don’t . . . I don’t want to fuck this up.”
And the genuine look of insecurity that crosses his expression just about does me in.
I don’t care what Uncle Dwight says—he’s wrong.
There is no way Atlas had any part in the torment that he experienced.
Can’t be. This man who’s staring up at me, I don’t think he could hurt a soul.
He’s funny and goofy and sexy and caring.
He cares so much that he saved a tarantula he’s never met in a snowstorm.
And the thought of that puts me at ease as I trace my thumb over his scruff. “You’re not going to fuck it up.”
His hand on my hip tightens, tugging me in closer.
“Promise?” he asks, his eyes growing dark.
“Promise,” I say as I lean forward, hoping that this is what he wants too, and I lightly press my lips to his.
He groans and then brings his hand to the back of my head, holding me in close as his mouth parts and he kisses me harder.
Lust beats through me as I turn more toward him, lining up my chest with his while I grip his face and match the intensity of his kiss, parting my lips, letting my tongue peek out ever so slightly, causing him to groan even louder. And it’s the sexiest sound, hearing the way that I can turn him on.
And we stay like that, kissing, making out, exploring with our mouths for I don’t know how long, but it settles me.
It feels like I was meant to do this all along.
Warmth and comfort and everything you’d expect from a kiss with the right person, it all swirls around me, telling me this is it. This is who I should be kissing.
When I pull away for some air, I stare down at him and the heaviness in his eyes as he looks back up at me. There’s happiness there, satisfaction, and it’s so freaking thrilling.
“Imagine if we did that under some mistletoe,” he says in a lazy voice.
I chuckle. “It would have been the talk of the town.”
“It would have set the standard for all other couples.”
“We would have made history. They would write Kringletown history books about us.”
“It wouldn’t be Cupid Christmas Night anymore. It would be the Christmas Cosmic Kiss Night.”
“Ooo, that has a nice ring to it.”
“I thought so too.” He cutely smiles up at me.
I rub my thumb over his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this before, but you’re very handsome.”
“Thank you. I grew my face myself.”
I laugh. “I’m very impressed. It’s symmetrical with a great nose, sharp jaw, and beautiful eyes. Oh, and I can’t forget the bushy eyebrows.”
“I could say the same thing about you. I mean about the symmetrical face, not the bushy eyebrows. You have nice eyebrows and a nice face. All in all, really fun to look at.”
“It’s astonishing you don’t have women hanging all over you from the way you so effortlessly compliment me.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I would like to think that I’m smooth, but I’m really not. I’m fucking awkward.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed, but I find it endearing and comforting, because I’m the same way.”
“Which I like a lot.”
I smile softly and then kiss his lips one more time, just a feather of a kiss though, before I pull away and lie back down, but instead of resting my head on his shoulder, I turn away.
“Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” he asks in a cute protest.
“Hoping that you would get the hint and spoon me.”
“Oh, right.” He chuckles and then turns as well, and he scoops me into his large arms and plasters me against his heated chest. “There. Comfortable?”
“Very.”
“Warm?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Good,” he says as he buries his head in my hair.
“Thank you again for tonight, Atlas.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he says as he nuzzles me.
“I keep thinking about what would have happened if you didn’t come and get me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be wrapped around you right now, that’s for damn sure.”
“I’m being serious,” I say.
“I know,” he whispers. “But I honestly can’t think about it. I just . . . I just want to hold you, knowing that you’re not in your cottage, nearly freezing to death. I like knowing that you’re here, next to me. Safe.”
“I like it too,” I say as I sigh into him, wanting him closer.
So much closer.
For a moment, I consider maybe having some skin-on-skin contact, allowing myself to truly feel his warmth, but that seems bold.
Isn’t that bold?
His hand moves across my stomach as he shifts behind me, getting even closer. My skin prickles, my heart hammers, and for a moment, the movement leads me to believe that maybe . . . maybe he’s feeling the same way.
So on a deep breath, I decide to take a chance and slide his hand under my shirt so he’s pressing his palm against my skin.
He clears his throat, and immediately, insecurity consumes me.
“Oh, um, is that . . . is that okay?” I ask. “I thought that maybe, um, that possibly—”
“Betty, trust me, I’m more than okay with this.”
“Are you sure? Because if you weren’t, I wouldn’t be offended. You could just pull your hand right back out.”
“Not happening.”
“Okay, because the option is there. I just thought that it might be nice to have some skin-on-skin contact, but you know that’s presumptuous of me—”
His hand slowly slides north until his thumb connects with the underside of my breast, stealing all the air from my lungs.
Oh God . . . oh God!
“I’m perfectly content,” he whispers, his breath caressing my ear as he keeps his hand firmly in place.
My skin prickles.
A dull throb erupts between my legs.
And my staggered breath shifts my chest just enough that every time I breathe out, my breast skims across his thumb.
I try to steady my breathing. I try to calm my raging pulse, which seems to be hammering in my ears, but I can’t because, God, he’s so close.
No longer am I cold.
No longer do I need all these blankets.
No, I just needed him, because one little pass of his thumb has my body heating like an inferno.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his mouth still right next to my ear.
No, because I want more.
Need more.
“Umm, slightly turned on,” I say, unable to stop the truth from coming out.
“Yeah?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Only slightly?”
And then he drags his thumb over my breast, and I nearly wilt from the feel of it.
I can’t tell you the last time I was with a man or even had a man cop a feel; it’s been a long time.
So to have someone like Atlas—so handsome, so consuming, so overwhelmingly sweet—even be interested has me nearly panting.
“Maybe a little more than slightly.”
“Was it from the kiss . . . or was it from this?” he asks, swiping my breast again.
A moan falls past my lips. “A combination.”
“Good answer.” Then to my chagrin, he moves his hand back to my stomach, to a more suitable place.
I steady my breath before I ask, “You’re, uh, you’re not going to—”
He removes his hand completely from my shirt, and hope falls as he places his hand on top of the fabric.
“Oh,” I answer. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No,” he answers casually but then starts to unbutton my shirt. Beginning with the bottom button, he works his way up, using one hand and freeing the fabric all the way until he gets to the top.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t focus.
This can’t possibly be happening . . .
And then he gently tugs me to my back so I’m staring up at the ceiling right before he hovers over me, his handsome face coming into view. In a deep, sultry voice, he says, “That’s better.”