Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Tegan
“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll take care of the rest?” Atlas said, stirring the shrimp and noodles together.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t mind—”
“Tegan.” The stern way he said it was sexy—making me want to comply.
“Yes, sir.” I took off my apron and sat at the island.
Atlas looked at me over his shoulder and smiled. “That’s right. Now, what would you like to drink? I have sparkling water, blood orange soda—”
“Oh, I love blood orange. One of those, please.”
I watched in awe as Atlas popped the tab on the soda can with the sharp black tip of his claw.
“Would you like me to pour it in a glass?” He cocked his head to the side, one of his ears drooping slightly in question.
Fuck. He was so freaking cute.
“The can is fine! No need to dirty a glass.” I smiled as he set the can down in front of me.
I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, slipping on a pair of heavy-duty oven mitts and pulling the garlic bread out of the oven. He hummed as he plated two generous servings of scampi and placed the basket of garlic bread between us on the island.
Leaning over me, he set my plate down and whispered against the shell of my ear, “The fruits of our labor.” The cold tip of his nose sent a shiver down my spine and had warmth pooling between my legs.
So effortlessly sexy.
“Thank you,” I said as I spread my napkin over my lap.
The delicious aroma of garlic and parsley filled my nostrils as it wafted off the pasta. Atlas watched me, his yellow eyes glowing expectantly.
I picked up my fork and twirled a hefty bite around the prongs before popping it into my mouth.
“Mmm,” I groaned as the rich, buttery flavor hit my taste buds. Not only was he hot, but he was an amazing chef.
This was it. He was never getting rid of me now.
“Good?” he asked with a smile, and finally picked up his own fork.
“It’s freaking delicious,” I said while trying to cover my full mouth with my free hand. I wasn’t being very ladylike, but Atlas seemed to preen over the compliment and finally dug into his own plate of pasta.
“So, the whole mansion in Briar Lakes was unexpected,” I said after swallowing a bite of food.
“I, uh, I moved here with my ex.” He raised his brows and took a swig of his sparkling water.
“Ah, I see. I’m assuming the mansion was her idea?” I didn’t want to push him to bring up his personal life with me too soon, but I was genuinely curious. I wanted to know why he hated this house. I wanted to know more about him period.
“Absolutely,” he said with a deep laugh that did things for me. “I’d prefer a little cottage in the woods.”
“You say that now, but you haven’t seen the inside yet.”
Atlas set his fork down and folded his hands, placing his head on them to stare at me intently. “Not yet. But I want to.”
—
When he was finished eating, Atlas pushed his plate away and puffed out his cheeks with a deep groan.
“You all right over there?” I asked.
“I always eat too much when I have pasta.” There was a whiny edge to his otherwise deep voice.
“We can always skip dessert if you want.”
He scoffed and hoisted himself to his feet to collect our dishes. “There’s always room for dessert.”
Given his history, it felt like a win.
Atlas placed our dishes in the sink before coming up behind me. He nuzzled his snout in my hair, his nostrils flaring and sending little puffs of warm air out over my neck.
“You smell so good, Tegan.” His voice was so gravelly, I could feel his chest vibrating against my back.
I sighed, leaning into him as he kissed and licked along the column of my neck, trailing his lips and his tongue from my jawline to my collarbone.
“Shit,” I gasped as one of Atlas’s clawed fingertips drew a line up my thigh. It was gentle enough not to draw blood, and the sensation sent a shiver down my spine.
“So soft. So sweet,” Atlas said as his hand continued to explore beneath my dress, his fingers creeping closer toward the heat of my pussy.
“Please,” I asked, eliciting a dark chuckle from Atlas.
He stepped away from me and I fought back a whine at the abrupt loss of contact.
I wanted him.
I needed him.
He was being a total fucking tease.
But in a way, I liked it.
The evidence being how wet I was and how tightly I clenched my thighs together, doing whatever I could to create some friction.
Atlas stepped toward the box I brought and flicked it open with the tip of his finger.
“What’s this?” he asked as he pulled out the piping bags full of icing.
My cheeks reddened.
“I—I thought maybe we could have some fun with icing. If—if you’re into that sort of thing.”
I already knew the answer. He’d be down.
Before I knew what was happening, Atlas was thrusting the piping bags into my hands and lifting me up off my stool.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he instructed.
I did as I was told, feeling the substantial bulge of his erection straining against his khakis. With each of his steps it rubbed against my pussy, driving my arousal even higher.
I had no idea how it was going to fit, but we were going to make this work.
One thing was for sure.
I was going to fuck Atlas Oberon.