Chapter 8
8
ATLAS
A s I sink into Wren’s hot, tight cunt, she immediately contracts around me. Her hips arch into mine, and she draws me even deeper. Wrapping me in her beauty and sweetness.
The pain…
The worry…
The heartache…
All the weight I’ve carried since the day of the shooting…
It evaporates in an instant, replaced by the soul-searing ecstasy of the connection we share that overwhelms me on every level.
“Fucking hell, Wren.”
Ineloquent, but they’re the only words I can manage as I shift closer, needing more, wanting everything. Her pleasure. Her pain. Her smooth skin and her scars. Her dreams and fears and all the ugly things she tries to hide as much as I do my own.
I want them all.
All of Wren…
She groans, her head tipping back, her mouth falling open when I finally bottom out deep inside her. I still for a moment, letting her adjust to my size, watching her beautiful lips part as she shifts under me and her pussy ripples along my length. Tangling my fingers into her thick, dark hair, I drag her mouth to mine and pull my hips back to plunge into her again.
I catch her gasp and swallow it down, along with the flavor of her release still coating my tongue.
And fuck if it isn’t the most satisfying and delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.
Withdrawing and sinking in again, I set a steady but restrained pace, moving with her, a sensual, fluid dance designed to bring us to that pinnacle we both so badly need to reach while enjoying every fucking second of it.
I roll my hips with every downthrust, and she groans, clutching the comforter beneath her like it’s the sole thing keeping her grounded to the bed.
Maybe it is.
I’m so fucking close to flying off into oblivion myself.
A hairsbreadth away from losing all control.
And the longer I fuck Wren, the deeper and more frantic our kisses become, the clearer it is how truly fucked I am when it comes to this woman.
So thoroughly fucked.
Which is exactly how I intend to leave Wren by the end of the night.
Shaking and spasming and completely destroyed…
She tears her mouth away from mine, trying to catch her breath. Her chest heaves, her breasts pressed against me hard enough that I can feel her heart beating wildly beneath them.
I still again, concern instantly replacing the overwhelming emotions I’ve been drowning in. “Do you need—”
“No.” She shakes her head and wraps her arms around me, digging her nails into my shoulders. “I’m okay. Just…go faster.”
Fucking hell.
I’m barely hanging on by a thread as it is, my entire body coiled tight, my balls drawn up and ready to blow embarrassingly fast. Those words are like throwing jet fuel on the inferno already raging for this woman.
Wren might bear the scars from the flames, but she’s the one consuming me with her fire, cocooning me in her heat, scalding me with her unbridled passion, burning me with her open acceptance and wanton need.
That’s what drives me now.
Pure carnal need for Wren.
For everything she has to offer, for anything she’ll give me.
I won’t deny her anything she asks for, even if it will bring me dangerously close to falling over that cliff edge I’m already precariously balancing on.
Drawing back my hips, I slam into her again, harder this time, starting a faster, punishing rhythm.
Exactly what she asked for.
A hot, pink flush spreads across her breasts and up her neck, over her cheeks as she arches her back off the bed, offering herself, reaching for even more.
But nothing I can give her will ever be enough for what Wren deserves.
That doesn’t mean I won’t die trying.
Shifting back onto my knees, I pull her right leg up, bend her knee, and press it out so I can change the angle, thrusting into her and grinding my pelvis against her already hypersensitive clit.
She gasps and scores her nails along my sides, gripping me, trying to find purchase as I start a mind-bending rhythm, snapping my hips and driving into her, over and over again.
Her head thrashes back and forth, and she drops her hands and reaches behind her to find the bottom edge of the headboard, just above the mattress.
Fuck, yes.
This is what I wanted.
For her to give herself to me completely.
To forget all the reasons it might be crazy to tumble so quickly into my bed.
To vanquish all the things that might’ve happened in her past that made her question why a man would want her this much.
To wash away the fact that she was so close to that vile man today at the studio.
Anger flares hot through my blood, mingling with the lust at the memory of walking in to find Satriano with her. My hand tightens where I’m gripping her ankle and holding her open, and she gasps as I angle forward and plunge even deeper, the head of my cock catching inside her.
Sweet fuck…
Pleasure spirals.
Wren moans. “Right there …” A gasp. “God, right there…”
A low growl of agreement slips from my lips.
Yes.
Right.
There.
On each retreat, Wren tightens around me, ensuring that contact in precisely the right spot for both of us. It spurs me on. She undulates under me, arching her hips to mine with every downthrust. Meeting every stroke. Clenching around me with every retreat.
“Fuck…”
Everything this woman does makes me want her more.
Need her more.
My head spins as my body revels in the pure, unadulterated pleasure of being wrapped up in Wren like this. Driving harder, I cement myself so deeply inside her that I don’t even know where I end and she begins.
And I don’t want to know.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Flashes of that man so close to her and her so vulnerable, not knowing the danger she faced, wrapped in an expensive suit, only push me harder.
I’ll do anything to keep her safe.
Even if that means Wren staying locked up here with me like this forever, I’ll fucking do it.
No question.
After what happened with the girls and Benjamin, I thought I understood what it felt like to want to protect somebody, but this is different. More primal. A need to claim her. Mark her. Let everyone know she’s mine and that I’ll do literally anything for her.
Maybe that’s what made this crazy thought about getting her pregnant feel so necessary .
I don’t fucking know, and I don’t fucking care why.
All I care about right now is this.
The feel of her cunt squeezing my cock. Her nails digging into me. Her slick skin gliding along mine. The look of sheer ecstasy and pure bliss on her face every time I plow into her.
Releasing her leg, I lean forward and grip her chin, tugging her head over to mine so that I can seal my mouth to hers as I continue to take her hard.
What she asked for.
What I’m good at.
I don’t know what it feels like to make love to a woman.
This is all I know.
Fast.
Rough.
And it feels so damn fucking good with her.
But something makes me slow, makes me still my hips, makes my thrusts come more languidly.
Wren moans. “Wh-what are you…why’d you—”
I kiss her to silence her again, a long, torturously slow meeting of lips, too soft and gentle for what I was just doing. “I’m sorry, Wren. I just want to savor this. Savor you. Make it last. It isn’t a fucking race, but I—”
She clenches around me and rolls her hips against mine, trying to find that angle, that friction, frantic to spur me to move again.
“Open your eyes, Little Bird.”
Her lids flutter open, and the pure need there, mixed with a hint of panic, steals my breath momentarily.
“I’m all yours, Wren.” I pull my hips back slowly and sink into her so she can feel every fucking inch of me. Tightening my grip on her chin, I brush my thumb along the scarring on the left side. “Anything that happened in your past, anyone who hurt you can’t anymore. Do you hear me?”
She gives me a tiny nod as a tear trickles from her eye.
“I’m going to take care of you, protect you, give you anything you need. In life and in this bed. Do you understand me?”
Her head bobs softly, her lips quivering, and I feather mine over them again, catching the little gasp as I draw back and plunge into her again.
This time, the rhythm I set is a long, slow grind, one I know will take what was already building up inside of her and make it coil even tighter, make it snap even harder when it releases, make her reach even more catastrophic heights.
She clenches her eyes shut and tosses her head back and forth. “Atlas, I can’t—”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t…”—she whimpers, frustration filling the sound—“I can’t come…during sex. I’ve never been able to. I can’t—”
“Fucking hell, Little Bird.” I seize her mouth again with a bruising kiss and shift my knee up, changing the angle again, ensuring I give her the most possible friction in that all-important spot. “Then every man you’ve ever been with is a worthless, selfish piece of shit who didn’t deserve to even look at you, let alone touch you.”
She laughs against my lips, the sound half humor and half anguish that I feel deep in my bones, too.
I don’t want to think about the kind of men she was with, anyone else fucking touching her, but I know I’ll be the last one who ever does and that she’ll remember this moment for as long as she fucking lives.
That’s enough.
More than enough.
Her body starts to tense under mine, and with each movement, her grip on me grows tighter.
“Trust me, Wren. I’ll get you there, Little Bird.”
She whimpers again, arching her hips, seeking what she’s never had before.
Christ, I want to give it to her.
I want to be the one who sets her free.
Who lets her fly .
“Concentrate on how good my cock feels inside you. That buzzing through your body every time the head catches. The heat blooming where we’re connected…”
I slip my free hand down between us, take her clit between my fingers, and roll it. Wren gasps, her head falling back, mouth open as her body stiffens under me, more and more with each plunge into her.
She begins to vibrate, and I up the pace, then pinch that tiny, throbbing bud.
Wren’s orgasm crashes over her, her pussy rippling along my cock, clenching it, clutching it, trying to drag it even further inside her as I continue to drive deep and roll my thumb and forefinger around her clit to draw out her release.
The pure relief ghosting across her beautiful features finally allows me to let myself fall over that edge. I thrust into her again and again, permitting the heat that’s been coiling at the base of my spine to spread out farther and farther and engulf me until the pull of her cunt finally drags my orgasm from deep inside me.
“ Fuck! Wren—”
The words I want to say evaporate as I come deep inside her. Hot spurts of relief make my vision go dark and obliterate the world around us for a few brief seconds before it slowly ebbs.
I bury my face against her neck and collapse on top of her, rolling to the side and dragging her with me. She buries her face against my neck, and I press mine into her hair, cock still embedded deep inside her, still throbbing, still hard.
For the first time in my entire life, I finally feel like I’m exactly where I should be, doing exactly what’s right.
And fuck if that doesn’t terrify me.
WREN
Waking alone in Atlas’ bed, I’m somehow still surrounded by him.
By his touch still lingering on my skin.
By his scent permeating the sheets.
The taste of him on my lips and my tongue.
And every single muscle in my body aches and burns in a way no Pilates workout has ever accomplished.
Wrung out.
There’s no other term for it.
I could lie like this forever, on the silky sheets, with a big comforter over me and my face buried in the pillow that smells like him, but my stomach gurgles, and the light shining in from the window tells me I’ve slept far later than I intended.
Shit.
Gramps let Atlas race me away from the studio yesterday when he explained that Damon had been there, but the old man will have questions.
Lots of them.
So do I.
And despite Atlas’ insistence last night during one of the many times he took me in various places around the condo, I can’t stay here locked up for days like he wants me to. I have to finish working on the studio, and I have to check on Gramps.
But first, I have to ask the questions Atlas promised he would answer today.
As much as I would love to spend my morning trying to count how many times that man made me come with his cock, his hand, and his mouth last night, I can’t ignore the real world or the cloud of uncertainty hanging in the air.
Releasing a groan, I toss back the comforter and scooch to the edge of the bed. The ache between my legs reminds me that I’ll likely be feeling what we did for days.
Not a bad problem to have.
I push to my feet, my legs trembling as I make my way around the room, searching for my clothes. But they aren’t on the floor where Atlas tossed them last night. My gaze drifts toward my open purse near the door, then to the nightstand where my inhaler still rests after I eventually needed it last night.
Atlas wasn’t wrong about that.
But there isn’t any sign of my clothes.
I wander into the bathroom and find them folded neatly on the counter.
A smile pulls at my lips at the sweet gesture, until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Shit.
My dark, disheveled hair looks more like a rat’s nest at this point, my skin pink in spots from Atlas’ scruff abrading it…
Holy fuck.
I tilt my neck to get a better look at the dark mark along the edge of my right collarbone.
He left a hickey?
Good Lord…
I don’t even remember that. Though, other parts of the night are still crystal clear, in blindingly vivid detail that makes my pussy ache and my thighs clench. It must’ve been when he’d already fucked me so well that I was in a pleasure coma.
Hell.
That will definitely raise questions from Gramps.
No way I can claim Atlas only brought me here to protect me from whoever Damon is and whatever threat he supposedly poses.
I run my fingers through my mess of hair and drape it over my shoulder in an attempt to cover the mark, then release a heavy breath and make my way out of the bedroom to try to find the man responsible for the debauchery.
Because that’s what it was.
A complete destruction of everything I thought I knew about sex and what it was supposed to be like.
Even now, as I step out onto the landing and stare down at his condo spread out beneath me, a tremor rolls through me with the memories. The massive living room with three-story ceilings opens into an immaculate kitchen with black granite countertops, giving me an unobstructed view of Atlas at the stove with his back to me, bare from the waist up, his tattoos on full display, a pair of gray sweatpants barely hanging onto his perfectly formed ass.
Jesus…
It would be so much easier to concentrate on important things if I didn’t have to look at the man.
As if he can sense me watching him, he glances over his shoulder, and his lips curl up into a grin. “Good morning.”
His voice carries up, rolling over me like a smooth, sultry wave that heats my skin and yet somehow raises goosebumps across it.
Clearing my throat, I start my way down. “Good morning.”
I grip the hand railing as tightly as I can, not trusting my unsteady legs, and suck in a long, slow breath when I reach the main floor. He peers over at me again, stirring something on the stovetop, as I advance toward the island and slide onto one of the stools, putting the massive marble slab between us.
Very intentionally.
He raises a brow. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
His lips dip before he turns back to stirring. “Bullshit. You have that look.”
“What look?”
He tosses a glance over his shoulder that says, “I know you, woman.” And maybe after last night, he does. He certainly spent enough time exploring my body to know every inch of it.
Every puckered piece of skin.
Every scar.
Atlas gave them the same treatment he did the rest of me and left me trembling and wet and ready for him again.
“The one you get when you’re overthinking something, worrying yourself too much. You had the same look when you were eight, Little Bird.”
Shit.
I drum my nails on the counter and clear my throat. There clearly isn’t any point in beating around the bush, not if I want answers. “Well, we didn’t really talk much last night.”
At all, really, save for breathy pleas and gasps and all sorts of ungodly animal sounds we made that would likely have terrified the neighbors, if he had any beside Isaac across the hall.
He finally flips off the stove and turns toward me with the pan in his hand, then dumps the contents onto a plate and slides it in front of me.
My stomach rumbles at the scent of the scrambled eggs hitting my nose.
Atlas releases a little sigh. “It isn’t much. I don’t normally cook, especially when I’m in camp. I have a nutritionist who plans my meals, and it’s mostly eggs, avocado, veggies, and red meat. Very boring. I have one of the chefs at the Hawke’s Nest cook everything weekly. I just heat up pre-made meals, so I don’t keep a lot of food here. But I figured you’d be starving, so I did my best with what I had.”
His adorable, rambling apology makes me grin.
Atlas uneasy—it isn’t something anyone sees often.
This is a completely different side of him, one that makes my chest ache in the best way.
“I appreciate the effort. It looks great.”
He winks.
God…
That shouldn’t be hot.
It should be cheesy as fuck and totally lame, but my stomach does somersaults—and it isn’t because I’m hungry for food.
“You know, when I put my mind to something, I’m going to accomplish it, Little Bird.”
I release a little huff, my body heating thoroughly at the reminder that Atlas managed what no man before him ever has—many, many times. “Boy, do I.”
He barks out a laugh that echoes around the condo, then tugs open a drawer under him and hands me a fork. “You want coffee?”
I nod, digging into the piping-hot eggs. “Please.”
Atlas watches me take the first bite before he turns back to the other side of the counter, where a coffeemaker stands. “So, tell me what’s wrong. I didn’t—” He freezes and looks over his shoulder at me. “I didn’t hurt you last night. Did I?”
Fuck.
I drop the fork and swallow the bite in my mouth. “No. God, no. Of course not. I’m just…” Squeezing my eyes closed, I take a breath, trying to get a grip on the million thoughts spinning around my head. “I don’t understand what happened yesterday with that man, Damon. What led to all”—I wave a hand—“well, you know.”
If I go into any detail about what we did last night—and this morning—it will undoubtedly end with me bent over this kitchen counter. Again.
Atlas’ hand tightens around the mug handle, and he shoves it under his coffee machine and hits the start button a little too aggressively before he rotates back toward me.
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest, making his pec muscles and biceps bulge even more under the ink, and the bright-red scar on his shoulder flex. Those goddamn sweatpants cling to his hips, drawn low, his Adonis belt and six-pack on display, and his cock pressing against the soft fabric even though he isn’t hard at the moment.
And I do mean at the moment because last night I discovered that it doesn’t take long to get him there.
“My eyes are up here.”
I snap up my head to meet his gaze.
A lazy, lust-filled grin spreads across his lips. “Now, do you want me to tell you about Damon, or do you have something else in mind?”
He waggles his eyebrows.
I laugh as I grab my fork and stab into my eggs. “Tell me about Damon before you get any other ideas.”
Ones I would certainly be on board with.
Atlas releases a heavy sigh and runs his right hand over his hair. “His real name is Damiano Satriano.”
He waits a beat, watching me, like he’s expecting me to react to that information.
I raise a brow. “Okay? Should that ring a bell?”
His lips press together in a firm line, and he shifts his weight, like the topic of conversation is making him uneasy already. “He is the single most dangerous man in New Orleans.”
I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth, a chill sliding over me. “How so?”
He sighs again and stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the river. “You’ve missed a lot since you’ve been gone.”
“Clearly…”
“His family’s from Calabria. He had a younger brother named Leonardo. Leonardo tried to kill the man you know as Damon so he could take over as the head of the family.”
His words process slowly.
“ Tried to?”
Atlas bobs his head. “Car bomb that apparently failed, only no one knew that. Leonardo ran the Satriano’s empire over there for decades, believing his brother was dead.” He snags my coffee mug and slides it over the counter to me. “Cream or sugar?”
I shake my head. “No. Black.”
He winks at me again. “Attagirl. I always knew you were tough.”
Wrapping my hands around the mug, I let the scent waft up to me and inhale deeply. “What does any of this have to do with the Hawkes or New Orleans?”
“Isaac’s now fiancée, Jack—Giacomina—showed up with their daughter, on the run from Leonardo.”
“Why was she running from him?”
Atlas hesitates a moment, like he isn’t sure he wants to reveal it. “Because her mom is the head of the Italian mafia in Chicago. Leonardo wanted to marry Jack to force her mother into forging an alliance so he could get a foothold in the United States.”
“Jesus…that’s…a lot.”
Not that everyone doesn’t know organized crime exists, especially in places like New Orleans, where gambling, prostitution, and all other types of seedy practices run rampant.
It’s just not something you expect to touch you or your life.
He nods slowly. “And it gets worse.” His jaw tightens. “Once Isaac found out about his daughter and what was going on, he obviously wasn’t going to allow that to happen. He killed Leonardo after he snatched Jack and was trying to force a wedding ceremony.”
The hair on my arms stands on end, and I shiver, my appetite suddenly disappearing. I take a sip of the coffee to try to warm myself. “So, Isaac killed Leonardo, and Jack and his daughter were safe?”
Atlas’ lips twist, and he returns to leaning against the counter. “We all thought so. Until Damon showed up here and started hanging out at The Grind, Angelina’s coffee shop. Everybody just thought he was this nice older man who liked to drink lattes and flirt with the girls.” He shakes his head. “But it was a lot more than that. He eventually started working with someone else who had a grudge against the Hawkes, a guy named Cassius Whitaker.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Isn’t that Kennedy’s boyfriend?”
He smirks. “Fiancé, and like I said, you missed a lot . I’m not going to get into all of it now. The important thing is eventually, Satriano revealed himself, that he was still alive and that he was stepping up to run the family, with a vendetta against us for his brother’s death…”
“But Leonardo tried to kill him! Why did he care?”
Shaking his head, Atlas offers a slight shrug. “Blood runs thick, I guess. Or maybe it was just an excuse to justify what he did next.”
The few bites I did take churn in my stomach. “Do I want to know?”
“You need to, so you’ll understand the danger.” He pushes off the counter near the stove and moves to the opposite side of the island from me, close enough that I can smell sex all over him. “The Rosellis were in control of the city at that point. We believe Satriano caused an explosion at The Grind that completely took it out. Then there were other incidents: a drive-by that killed Roselli and also hit Kennedy, Isaac, and Stone.”
“Jesus…”
Of course, my internet stalking ways had given me glimpses of some of these things—the fire at the café, the shooting—but none of those articles ever mentioned the name Satriano or in any way suggested a motive.
“The man will do anything to take control of New Orleans.” Atlas tightens his hands into fists on the counter, his body tensing. “In fact, yesterday morning, I got dragged out of bed at 2:00 AM because of him…”
“What?” I set down my mug. “Why?”
“Because he took Pope again.”
“He what ?”
Atlas scowls. “He’s forcing him to be his mob doctor, patch up his goons when they get hit doing his dirty work. And two nights ago, he literally took him. Showed up at the house he and Allie share at two in the morning, forced him into a car, and just left with him.”
“Oh, my God. Is he all right?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “He is now. We got a call a couple of hours later from him saying they brought him home, but we never really know with Satriano. That’s the problem. He’s cagey. One minute, almost friendly. The next, kidnapping people.”
Ice floods my veins remembering Atlas’ reaction to finding the man in the studio yesterday morning—which suddenly makes so much more sense in the context of just having dealt with that situation hours earlier.
And that word kidnapping flashes brightly in my head.
“What does he want with me?”
Atlas makes his way around the island until he’s standing next to me. He turns me on the stool and steps between my legs, taking my face in his palms. “He will make sure to insert himself anywhere he can to get close to any of us, to learn what he can for leverage and to use it. And make no mistake, he’s going to use you .”
“For what?”
“To get to me or someone else in the family since he can probably figure out that you’re important to all of us, given our connection with your grandfather. I don’t know exactly, but it’ll happen sooner or later.”
A cool shudder rolls through me, and he leans down and presses his lips to mine gently.
“But I promise you, Little Bird, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The absolute confidence and sincerity of his words make tears sting my eyes.
“You and me, Wren.” He dips his head slightly, ensuring to catch my gaze. “This was what was always supposed to happen. I knew it back then—”
“You were eight.”
A quick grin tilts his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t know it.”
He steps back, walks over to an end table next to the couch, lifts up a book, and slowly pulls something from between the pages. The way he moves—so effortlessly, so confidently—has my body heating again, even though the topic of conversation has been anything but warm and fuzzy.
Atlas returns and sets the small white square on the counter in front of me.
My breath catches in my throat. “Is that—”
I don’t know why I’m asking because I can see exactly what it is…
The Polaroid they took of us on our “wedding” day over twenty years ago.
A vise tightens around my chest at seeing Atlas in that little tux and me by his side, in the pristine white dress, staring up at him with so much affection in my eyes even then. “You kept it.”
He slides his fingers under my chin and tips my face up until my tear-soaked eyes meet his. “I kept it. And I’m keeping you.”