Chapter 10
Atlas
Pain was a familiar frequency. It was the white noise of my life—the dull ache of shin splints, the sharp sting of a blocked shot, the deep, bone-weary exhaustion of working double shifts at the mill before I got the scholarship.
But this pain? This was different.
Lying on Aurelia’s massive bed, with the city lights casting long, jagged shadows across the silk sheets, the pain in my ribs was a distant thunder.
It was there, throbbing with every heartbeat, a reminder of the violence of the game.
But it was being drowned out by a much louder, much more dangerous sensation.
Her.
Aurelia was curled against my good side, her head resting on my shoulder, her naked skin burning against mine like a brand. Her hand was resting flat on my chest, right over my heart. She could feel it. She had to feel it. It was hammering against my sternum like a fist on a locked door.
Let me out.
We had crossed a line. We had crossed it, burned the bridge, and pissed on the ashes.
The first time—at the cabin, on the Solstice—we had the excuse of the wine. We had the excuse of isolation. It was a "what happens in Vegas" situation, secluded by snow and silence.
But we weren't in the cabin anymore. We were in Burlington. Her father was ten miles away in his mansion. My coach was probably texting me about ice times. The world was right outside that window.
And I didn't care.
I shifted slightly, trying to alleviate the pressure on my bruised oblique. A hiss of air escaped my teeth.
Aurelia moved instantly. She pushed herself up on one elbow, her hair cascading over her shoulder in a golden curtain. Her breasts—perfect, pale, tipped with rose—brushed against my bicep.
"Does it hurt?" she whispered. Her eyes were wide, scanning my face. They were blue pools of concern.
"I'm fine," I lied. It was the standard male lie. The lie that kept the world turning.
"You're grimacing."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About how much trouble I'm in," I murmured.
She bit her lip. It was a nervous habit I had come to obsess over. "Because of my father?"
"No," I said, reaching up with my right hand—my good arm—to cup her jaw. My thumb brushed over her lower lip, freeing it from her teeth. "Because of how much I want inside you again."
Her breath hitched. Her pupils blew wide, swallowing the blue.
She shifted, moving her leg so her thigh draped over my hips. The friction was electric. Skin on skin. Heat on heat.
"You're injured," she said, her voice trembling. "We can't..."
"I'm injured, Aurelia. I'm not dead."
I ran my hand down her neck, over the slope of her shoulder, tracing the curve of her breast. She shivered, nipples hardening instantly under my gaze.
"I can't move much," I admitted, my voice dropping to a gravelly low. "My ribs won't take the torque. I can't pin you down. I can't throw you around the way I want to."
"The way you want to?" she breathed.
"The way you need me to."
I watched the flush rise on her chest. She knew what I was talking about. She didn't want gentle. She got gentle from the rest of the world—handled with kid gloves, treated like porcelain. She wanted the Anvil. She wanted the weight.
"So," I continued, sliding my hand lower, over the dip of her waist to the curve of her hip. "If we do this... you have to do the work. You have to take what you want."
She stared at me. I saw the fear in her eyes—the fear of performing, the fear of doing it wrong.
"I don't know if I can," she whispered. "I... I've never been on top. Not really."
"You're a dancer," I said softly. "You know how to move. You know how to control your body better than anyone I've ever met."
I moved my hand between her legs. She was wet. Soaking wet.
"See?" I murmured, rubbing my thumb over her slickness. "Your body knows exactly what to do. You just have to get your brain out of the way."
She gasped, her head falling back as I found her clit.
"Atlas..."
"Look at me," I commanded.
She forced her eyes open. They were glazed, heavy with lust.
"Climb on," I said.
It was a challenge. It was an invitation.
She hesitated for a second, then swung her leg over me fully. She straddled my hips, rising up on her knees.
The view nearly killed me.
She was magnificent. In the dim light, with her hair wild and her body displayed for me, she looked like a goddess demanding sacrifice. I was the altar.
She looked down at me, unsure. Her hands hovered over my chest, afraid to touch the bruises.
"Put your hands on my shoulders," I instructed. "Keep your weight off my ribs."
She placed her hands on my shoulders. Her grip was tentative.
"Harder," I said. "Hold on to me."
She tightened her grip. Her nails dug into my skin slightly. Good.
"Now," I said, my voice thick. "Sink down."
She lowered herself slowly. I watched her face. I watched the moment she felt me against her entrance.
She paused, breathing hard.
"Atlas, you're... you're really big."
"I know. You can take it. You took it before."
"That was different. That was..."
"That was you letting go," I finished. "Do it again."
She pushed her hips down.
I groaned, my head falling back against the pillows. The sensation of her tight, hot velvet encasing me was overwhelming. It was a tight squeeze, a perfect fit.
She took me inch by inch. She was shaking. Her arms were trembling with the effort of holding herself up, but she didn't stop.
When she was fully seated, hilt deep, she let out a long, broken cry.
"Oh god."
"Yeah," I gritted out. "God has nothing to do with this, Princess. This is all you."
She sat there for a moment, adjusting to the fullness. I reached up and grabbed her hips. My hands looked dark and massive against her pale skin. I held her steady.
"Move," I whispered. "Grind."
She started to move.
It was tentative at first. Small circles. Testing the friction.
"That's it," I praised. "Just like that."
She closed her eyes, biting her lip again. She picked up the rhythm. Up and down. Slow. Deliberate.
"Open your eyes," I ordered.
She shook her head. "I can't. It's too much."
"Open them, Aurelia. Look at me while you use me."
Her lashes fluttered open. She looked down at me.
And in that moment, something shifted.
She wasn't just the girl I was sleeping with. She wasn't just the job. She was my counterpart. The silence to my noise. The grace to my violence.
"Good girl," I groaned as she sank down hard.
The praise hit her like a physical blow. Her breath hitched.
"Am I?" she whimpered. "Am I good?"
"The best," I promised. "You're so good for me. So tight. perfect."
She sped up.
The friction was incredible. Every time she came down, I felt it in my spine. My ribs ached with the movement, a sharp counterpoint to the pleasure, but I welcomed it. It grounded me.
"Faster," I challenged.
"I... I can't..."
"Yes you can. You're an athlete. Push through the burn."
She did. She rode me with a desperation that mirrored my own. Her breasts bounced with the rhythm, mesmerizing me. I reached up and fondled them, thumbing the nipples, making her cry out.
"Atlas, please," she begged.
"Please what?"
"Make me... make me come."
"Do it yourself," I growled. "Grind against me. Find your spot."
She leaned forward, changing the angle. She rubbed her clit against my pelvic bone.
"Fuck," I hissed. That was it. That was the spot.
She started to unravel. Her breathing turned into frantic gasps. Her skin flushed pink from her chest to her hairline.
"I'm close," she panted. "Atlas, I'm close."
"Let go," I commanded. "Give it to me, Aurelia. Give me everything."
She shattered.
It was violent. Her inner muscles clamped down on me, milking me dry. She threw her head back, a scream tearing from her throat that I had to muffle with my hand over her mouth so the neighbors wouldn't call the cops.
I held her through it, my thumb stroking her cheek as she convulsed.
The sight of her—ruined, ecstatic, completely mine—pushed me over the edge.
I thrust up, ignoring the screaming pain in my ribs, meeting her on the downstroke.
I poured myself into her. I gave her everything I had. The anger, the fear, the love I was too terrified to name.
I came with a roar that vibrated in my chest, my vision going white.
We stayed like that for a long time. Tangled. Sweaty. Breathing the same air.
She collapsed on top of me, careful to avoid my ribs, burying her face in my neck. She was sobbing softly. Not sad tears. Release tears.
"I got you," I whispered, stroking her hair. "I got you, little bird."
The comedown was slow.
The room was silent again, save for the hum of the HVAC system and the sound of sirens far below on the Burlington streets.
Aurelia rolled off me, curling into my side again. She pulled the duvet up over us.
I stared at the ceiling. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain in my ribs was returning with a vengeance. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my side.
But I didn't care.
I turned my head to look at her.
She was tracing the tattoos on my chest with her fingertip. She looked thoughtful. Vulnerable.
"Atlas?"
"Yeah."
"What happens now?"
It was the question I had been dreading.
I closed my eyes. "I don't know."
"My father called you," she said softly. "I saw the text on your phone when you were in the shower. He wants to see you tomorrow."
My stomach tightened. "Yeah. 8:00 AM."
"He's going to offer you the contract, isn't he? The NHL hookup. The future."
"Probably."
"And if he finds out about this?" She gestured between us. "About tonight?"
"Then he burns the contract," I said flatly. "And he burns me."
She propped herself up on her elbow. She looked fierce suddenly. "I won't let him."
"You can't stop him, Aurelia. He owns the board."
"I'm his daughter."
"That makes you collateral, not a player."
She shook her head. "I'm not a child anymore, Atlas. You... you showed me that."
She leaned down and kissed me. It was soft, sweet. A promise.
"We keep it secret," she whispered. "Until the season is over. Until you sign. Then... then we tell him."
"And if he cuts you off?" I asked. "If he takes the apartment? The tuition? The credit cards?"
She looked around the expensive room. She looked at her designer clothes piled on the floor.
Then she looked at me.
"Then I'll learn to like potatoes," she said. A small smile touched her lips.
My chest ached. Not from the bruise. From the sheer, terrifying weight of what she was offering. She was willing to burn down her ivory tower for me.
For a trailer park kid with a broken rib and a negative bank balance.
"You're crazy," I murmured.
"I'm yours," she corrected.
She laid her head back down on my chest. Within minutes, her breathing evened out. She was asleep.
I lay there, wide awake.
I watched the shadows move across the ceiling.
I was terrified.
I had spent my whole life fighting to get out of the hole. I had clawed my way to a D1 scholarship. I was inches away from the pros. I was inches away from saving my mother.
All I had to do was follow the rules. All I had to do was be the good soldier.
But looking at Aurelia sleeping in my arms... feeling the warmth of her skin...
I knew I was going to break every single rule Arthur St. James had set.
I was in love with her.
And love, in my experience, was the fastest way to lose everything.
But for the first time in my life... I thought maybe, just maybe, losing everything else might be worth it. If I got to keep her.
I kissed the top of her head.
"Sleep well, Princess," I whispered into the dark. "Tomorrow, we go to war."