Chapter Eight #2
Foster laughed harder as he climbed into bed and returned Atticus to his spot.
The funniest part about Atticus’ quips was his expression.
He looked totally serious while saying the most ridiculous shit.
It hit Foster. Atticus had always done that.
Foster had just refused to see him as anything other than an object he desired.
The truth killed his laughter. He was the bad guy.
When he had walked out on their date, he had been in the wrong.
Foster had been trying to prove to himself he could walk away from Atticus.
That Atticus wasn’t an addiction. The truth was, Foster was hooked on him, and he didn’t think that was the bad thing he had tried to convince himself it was.
Atticus had tried to connect with him. Foster had been so set on riling Atticus in his office that day that he had accidentally sent Atticus running back to the sex-only zone. He was to blame.
“I’m sorry.”
Atticus’ expression turned baffled. “Why?” His face immediately became a brick wall, hiding all his emotions. “Oh. Is this the part where you regain your good sense again and leave?”
Foster shook his head. “The opposite, actually.” He straddled Atticus’ body, keeping his weight on his knees. “I shouldn’t have left that night. Honestly, I have no idea what happened. You didn’t deserve my reaction, so I’m sorry.”
Atticus stared up at him. He licked his bottom lip in a nervous gesture. “Maybe I scare you the same way you scare me.”
They held each other’s stare. Foster wasn’t one to admit something like that, but damn. He never thought Atticus would either. “Maybe.” He was being a coward again. Foster had to get better at this. “Yeah. I guess you terrify me.”
“It’s my throat-chop skills that did it, right?”
A smile exploded across Foster’s face. Damn, he could love this guy. Now that was petrifying. “Absolutely.”
He shifted and transferred part of his weight to his palms as he boxed in Atticus. “Any man with hands that deadly…”
Atticus’ fingers encircled Foster’s erection. He lightly stroked, sending goosebumps along with pops of pleasure skittering down Foster’s spine. “If you’d known I’d be here, who would you put that condom on right now?”
Between the sexy way Atticus asked and the way he petted Foster’s dick, he had Foster panting. The desperation was a third person in the room. He had never craved anything as much as he ached for Atticus’ touch. “Holy hell. You. Definitely you.”
He made Foster curious as hell to see what Atticus could do if he had his way.
An evil rumble of laughter vibrated beneath him. “Good thing I’m always ready. Grab my wallet.”
The way Foster scrambled from the bed might have been humiliating any other time.
Right now, Foster didn’t give a fuck. After stripping Atticus and getting him some pjs after his arrival, Foster had emptied Atticus’ pockets onto a small coffee table on the other side of the room.
Foster fetched Atticus’ wallet at the speed of light.
Before he could pass it to Atticus, Atticus gave his next order. “Open it and get what you need.”
It wasn’t as easy as Foster would’ve suspected.
There was way too much cash in Atticus’ wallet.
He had to flip through bills to find what he needed.
He almost released a loud war cry when he finally found a condom and a small packet of lube.
The packet was a lot less than Foster would have liked, but he was past caring about comfort.
Foster dropped the wallet on the bedside table.
Atticus’ eyes glittered with desire. “Hurry up and put that on me. I want to watch you use that lube.”
Fuck. Foster was the voyeur, but exhibition nipped at that kink’s heels. He did everything he was ordered to do. Foster made sure Atticus didn’t miss a second of him readying his asshole for Atticus’ taking. The heat in Atticus’ expression when he straddled Atticus again should have been illegal.
“Use me. I might be down, but I’m not out. Let me watch you ride my dick. I want your cum to paint my skin.”
Foster didn’t hesitate, but he made sure he gave Atticus a show as he lowered himself on Atticus’ dick.
He tilted his chin toward the ceiling and took slow breaths.
Sweat coated his skin as Atticus’ girth stretched him wide.
Foster didn’t exactly sleep around. Not only had he spent months obsessed with Atticus and no one else, but Foster also didn’t let people close.
“I’m so proud of you.” Atticus stroked Foster’s cock. “You’re taking it so good. Just a little more.”
Foster ground his back teeth. He knew he just needed to adjust, but things were going much slower than he pictured with Atticus.
A deep, sexy as fuck sound came from beneath him.
Foster dropped his gaze. He had to see Atticus’ every reaction.
Atticus looked turned on as hell, and Foster’s imagination had never been this good.
Even when he watched Atticus pleasuring himself, Atticus hadn’t looked like this.
His expression was something new, and Foster already knew he could easily become addicted.
Needing to see more, Foster lifted and lowered himself.
Atticus visibly fought for air. “That’s it. Just go slow. I need you to feel as good as you make me feel.”
Foster didn’t know why he couldn’t find his voice to give Atticus all the dirty talk he could muster.
He couldn’t do anything except feel. Foster rocked himself on Atticus’ dick, finding the exact angle he needed.
When a jolt of ecstasy hit, Foster went to work, using Atticus the way he had been ordered to do.
“Mmm. Damn, Foster. You look sexy as fuck right now. You’re doing something to me I don’t understand.
I don’t want whatever is happening between us to stop.
” Atticus paused to openly pant. “Fuck. You mess with my head. I already know if you pretend this didn’t happen, it’ll snap my mind.
The thought of you walking away again makes me queasy. What are you doing to me?”
The genuine plea for answers in Atticus’ tone had Foster all the way fucked up. They weren’t supposed to feel this way. Foster couldn’t stop the freight train of his emotions from barreling away from him. A moan escaped him as Atticus made things worse by pumping his dick.
Atticus took no mercy. “You’ve got this, sexy. Give me that orgasm. I need to feel your body twitching on my cock. You have no idea how many times I’ve touched myself with the fantasy of you in my mind. Show me the real thing. Let me see if it matches.”
Goddamn. He had Foster ready to disappoint him. Atticus kept fucking talking, sounding totally unmoved. Meanwhile, Foster was hanging on by a thread.
Atticus released his erection and scraped his short fingernails down Foster’s torso. “Now, Foster.”
Foster obviously totally belonged to Atticus. At Atticus’ command, Foster blew. He forgot anything existed beyond the dick he rode. Foster bounced like his life depended on it as he cried his way through a powerful orgasm.
Atticus made the slightest sound, but it cut through Foster’s haze, sounding like a cannon.
He focused on Atticus. Atticus’ jaw flexed as he silently filled the condom between them.
The lack of reaction might have put Foster off his game if it weren’t for Atticus’ eyes.
They were locked on Foster and burned with an intensity that made Foster’s throat swell.
Later, he would muse over the muted restraint Atticus showed.
For now, Foster fought for his soul. He was pretty damn certain Atticus intended to take it.