11. Atticus
ELEVEN
ATTICUS
She’s exhausted by the time I slip my spent dick out of her cunt, watching as a slow trickle of my cum seeps from her slit, like my cock was the only thing keeping it inside of her.
I’ve known guys who are obsessed with creampies, and as I watch her sexy cunt all creamy with my cum, I can understand the appeal.
But the more time I spend with Lemon, the more I’m learning that my newest kink isn’t a thing, it’s a person. My new kink is Lemon. Fucking Lemon, toying with Lemon, watching Lemon fall apart on my fingers, tongue, toy, or cock. The thing I find the biggest turn-on is simply…her.
Hell, I think I might get to a point where just being in the same room as her makes me so hard I could come in my pants without her ever coming within ten feet of me.
For years, I’ve been told by loved-up friends and clients that I’ll know when I find my person, and I do. Lemon is it. She’s mine, and the more time I spend with her, the more sure I am that she’s everything I’ll ever want and need.
Lifting her into my arms, I turn her, then sit down on the couch, curling her warm, pliant body into mine. Instead of pulling away, she makes a soft purring sound and snuggles into my side, her wet cunt rubbing over my thigh as she squirms to get comfortable in my lap.
A pang of regret hits me at the knowledge that I’ll have to move her and let her get dressed soon.
Because despite my reassurances that Felix won’t look at her even if she’s naked all the time, I don’t plan to put that to the test. I’ll admit that having my twin walk in on us while I was fucking her over our couch was a turn-on, but I won’t ever share her with anyone, not even him, so it’s not fair to have her prancing around the loft without any clothes on too often.
Exhaling happily, I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling her soft, feminine, flowery scent.
I’ve never felt this way with a woman before, but Lemon seems to be the one changing everything, and I’m here for it.
My dick stirs, but I ignore it. The sex between us is explosive, but I don’t want this to just be physical, and the only way I can learn everything I need to know is to put the effort into becoming a part of every aspect of her life.
“Tell me how you spend your free time?” I ask softly, smoothing my palm over her tangled hair.
“I don’t really have a lot of free time,” she says, and it feels like she’s trying to avoid answering my question.
“You haven’t been working seven days a week, so what do you do on your days off?” I ask, rephrasing my question.
“Erm,” she stalls.
“I like…clothes,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her.
“So do I,” I answer honestly. “You’ve seen my closet.”
“It’s amazing,” she says with a hint of reverence in her tone.
“So you like to shop?” I surmise, wondering if she’s worried I’ll think she’s about to ask me for money.
“No, not really.”
“You like clothes, but not shopping?” I question.
“I make my own clothes,” she blurts.
“Wait,” I question. “You make your own clothes?”
Instead of speaking, I feel her head bob up and down against my chest.
“So the sailor dress?”
“Actually, I bought that one, mainly because I couldn’t find a pattern I liked or figure out the dimensions of the collar so I could create my own. I actually plan to make a mini version in pink when I have the time and money for the fabric.”
“So which of the outfits I’ve seen you in so far did you make?” I ask.
“I made the one I’m wearing today, and the one I wore last night. I’m not that good at it yet, but I’m learning,” she says coyly.
“You made that dress?” I ask, pointing in the direction of the pink dress I stripped off her an hour ago.
She nods, then buries her face in my chest like she’s embarrassed.
“Jesus, Princess, that’s incredible. Why have you been working as a receptionist when you can make clothes like that?”
“I just followed a pattern,” she says, downplaying it.
“Don’t do that, Princess. Don’t minimize your achievements.
You look sexy as hell in the dress you made today.
Who cares if you followed a pattern? That’s still a million times more impressive than what most people could do.
And I’m guessing you probably put your own flair on the dress, didn’t you? ”
“Well…” She stalls. “I guess I did change the skirt a little, and I wanted a sweetheart neckline, so I altered that a little, and I played about with the design of the back because I always feel beautiful when I’m in a backless dress.”
“You’re a clothes designer, Princess. That’s fucking incredible.”
Instead of preening or pushing for more compliments, she lifts her face from my chest and looks up at me from beneath dark lashes. “Maybe one day.”
“No, Princess, not someday. Now. Why aren’t you looking for jobs designing clothes instead of wasting your time being underappreciated working for asshats?”
“Because I didn’t go to college or design school. No one would consider me for a job when I’m not qualified.”
“So take a course.”
“Just like that,” she says snippily, her relaxed body going tense in my arms. “I can’t just decide to go to college on a whim. I have bills to pay.”
“You could get student finance,” I suggest.
“And be paying off the loans for the rest of my life.”
Inhaling, I think about my siblings. I decided not to go to college, and instead, I found an apprenticeship with a tattoo studio. But Felix went to art school, and Tori went to culinary school, and both Jude and August started college before they were picked up to play in the NHL.
While our parents might not be the most reliable adults, they had been saving for us all to go to college since we were babies, and they had enough money for none of us to need to take out any student loans to cover the cost of any education we wanted to pursue.
Lemon’s mom is dead, and I have no idea about their financial situation before she passed.
It was ignorant of me to assume that she had money set aside for Lemon to go to college.
“Maybe you could look into some community college classes. Then, if you decide to apply for a four-year school, you can transfer the credits.”
“Maybe,” she says noncommittally.
Not wanting to push the issue, I file away the idea of looking into classes for her as I gather her more fully into my arms and enjoy a moment of calm with her.
More time must pass than I thought, because when my cell starts to ring it’s after lunch. “Sorry, Princess,” I say, lifting her off me enough that I can slip out from beneath her and cross the room to retrieve my cell from the counter.
“Hey,” I say, answering the call without checking the caller ID.
“Hey, baby,” Mom’s voice says through the speaker.
“Hey, Ma. How you doing?”
“I’m good. When are you and your brother flying in?”
“Ma, we road tripped. You know Felix doesn’t like to fly. We got to town a couple of days ago.”
“Oh yes, I think I remember you telling me. Are you at a hotel? Why don’t you come and stay at the house? Hotels are always so impersonal.”
“Ma, we bought a place. We moved in already.”
“You bought a place? In Rockhead Point?”
“Yes, Ma. We bought a warehouse, then we had it converted into a loft and a studio space for Felix.”
“So you’re not staying at home?”
“No, Ma.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. “What about Jude and August? Will they be coming home? I made up all of your bedrooms.”
“No, Ma. The team has apartments for new members to use while they find places to rent or buy close to the rink. But they’ve already started looking for a house here.”
“In Bozeman?” she asks hopefully.
“No, Ma, in Rockhead Point.”
When she sighs sadly again, I start to feel a little guilty that for the first time in years we’re all back in Montana, and instead of settling near them on the outskirts of Bozeman, we’ve chosen to stay close to where Tori has planted roots here in the tiny town of Rockhead Point.
“Do you have plans tomorrow night? We could come and visit you and Dad. I could see if Tori is free, and all of us will come over.”
“Jude and August too?” she asks hopefully.
“I’ll have to have a look at their game schedule. If they’re not playing, I’m sure they’ll come too. Plus, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
“A girl?” Mom whispers.
“Yes, Ma, a girl. My girl. Her name is Lemon.” Turning, I glance at my princess and find her looking at me, her eyes wide. “She’s gorgeous and perfect. You’re going to love her.”
“I’ll cook,” she says excitedly.
“Saturday is pot roast,” I remind her.
“Oh, I was thinking we could grill. Your dad just got this enormous new grill with a smoker and everything.”
“You can make a pot roast on the smoker. I’ll send Dad a link to a recipe,” I tell her.
“Okay, baby,” Mom says, the entire timbre of her voice changed with her excitement.
“See you tomorrow, Ma.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Ending the call, I exhale, then quickly tap at my screen and open the group chat I have with my siblings. Typing out a message, I hit send, then glance over at my princess, who looks shell-shocked.
Me: Just spoke to Ma. She sounds down, so I said we’d go to dinner tomorrow night. Who else can make it?
Within moments, the three dots appear to show someone is typing.
Tori: I can. Nero is still on shift .
Me: I’ll come pick you up, and we can ride together.
Tori: Awesome. I’ll bring wine.
More dots appear.
August: Jude and I are in Chicago on an away series right now, but we should be home early afternoon tomorrow. Assuming there are no delays, we’ll come too. We’ll meet you there.
Me: Perfect. See you all tomorrow.
More dots appear as I’m about to close the chat.
Tori: Are you bringing Lemon?
Within seconds, two identical messages appear.
Jude: Who is Lemon?
August: Who is Lemon?
Shaking my head, I smile and chuckle lightly. My sister is a fucking shit stirrer.
Me: Lemon is my girl, and of course I’m bringing her.
The chat explodes with head-exploding emojis from my brothers and laughing face ones from Tori. Ignoring them, I type out a short message, hit send, then close the chat.