Atlas #2
“Well,” she repeats. “And last night? How was last night?”
I swallow thickly, letting my eyes fall from her face to where her fingertips now rest against my forearm.
“Long,” I say honestly.
If it had been Atticus who asked, I would have given more detail, but I’m constantly concerned with how hard my mother or father will take the information I give. How it will crush them. And Abigail is far too young to know specifics.
“Are you okay now? Physically? Or should I call Dr. Harold for you?” my mother rapid-fires her line of questioning, and I shake my head, patting her hand where she’s touching me.
“I’m okay now. Promise.”
Momma nods demurely, her eyes tracing the contours of my face.
“Maybe we should get you an aide, yes?” she offers, and I scoff in disgust at her proposal.
“I’ll say it again, Momma, I will not pay someone for that.”
But Theodora Chastain just sighs, as if it wasn’t an incredibly ludicrous suggestion, and sits up straight on the chaise.
“Whatever you say, darling. I just worry about you. I don’t want you to end up bedridden again.”
At her nervous tone and her sad eyes, I feel immense guilt. Sure, I didn’t ask for this, and sure, there’s nothing I can do in this moment to stop it—but I’m causing everyone around me pain. I’m a burden.
“I really am fine,” I insist. “Really.”
I stare into the large mirror that sits in the corner of my bedroom, leaning against the wall. With my bedroom door at my back, I allow my eyes to trace the delicate lines of my hips and my arms, my thighs and my waist. For a boy, I am quite frail-looking.
I have no bulging muscles or abs to speak of, and standing at 5 feet 10 inches, I’m nearly a head shorter than Atticus. But that’s fine by me.
I like myself how I am: soft skin with pink undertones, silky brown curls, and large blue eyes. Even the delicate curve of my spine is quite beautiful, and although my ass is small, it’s perky and inviting all the same.
I am appealing to women and men alike, and I relish the fact that I can put on pretty clothes and look so appetizing. Even if this same gift has cursed me in some ways.
Staring at my naked figure, I release a dream-like sigh.
I’m not a narcissist, as I don’t believe I’m the center of the universe, and I have empathy in spades. But I do have confidence, and a boatload at that.
And with that thought in mind, and my symptoms flaring higher than they have in days, I take to walking in the nude, all the way to my bedside, where the gold cord dangles freely.
Then, I pull it.
It takes Julian all of three minutes to be knocking at my door, meaning he took the steps of the west tower at least two at a time.
In the dim lighting of my candlelit room, with the fading afternoon sun streaming in from the window overlooking my bed, I continue to stare at myself in the mirror.
I haven’t seen Julian since the music room this morning. We didn’t even pass each other as I was leaving the dining room after dinner, having lingered around after my family members in hopes I would.
So now, while I should be preparing for bed, I’m vibrating with excitement as I call, “Come in.”
Julian enters the room, his wide brown eyes taking in the expanse of my room for the first time.
The large bed to his left, the privacy screen and dresser to his right.
Various plants are sporadically placed around the place, and the skylight window above his head filters in even more fading sunlight.
But his curious observation of my bedchamber comes to an abrupt stop as he looks straight ahead, and I watch him through the mirror as his eyes trail down the length of my back, over my ass, and straight down to my heels.
My skin prickles with awareness, and my cock twitches where it hangs between my thighs.
His eyes dart to his own feet, his face flushing a bright red.
“Young Master Atlas,” he stammers out. “Y-you called?”
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly. “I need help.”
I watch his brows furrow, but still, he refuses to look up from his shoes.
“Help? What do you need?”
“Ready me for bed,” I command, and Julian stiffens.
“Um, yes, sir.” He closes the door softly behind himself.
“The closet is to my right. I need night clothes.”
Julian nods, his eyes darting up to the door that leads to my closet, and he heads in that direction. When he passes me, he gives me a wide berth.
Once he disappears inside, I return my attention to my own reflection. Excitement has flushed my skin, and I can see the desire and need in my own eyes.
Such a horrible, sweet little thing, I think to myself.
“Young Master Atlas? Is this what you… wear to bed?” Julian exits the closet, his eyes trained on the fabric.
A pair of navy blue silk sleep shorts and a matching button-up sleep shirt sit in his palms.
“Yes, that’s correct,” I say gently.
Without another word, Julian approaches me, extending the clothes once he’s an arm’s length away. I can practically hear his heartbeat from here; his jaw clenches as a thick vein throbs in his neck.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Dress me, please.”
He releases a heavy, stuttering sigh as he nods once. Then, he’s taking another step toward me and kneeling.
I use every ounce of self-control I contain to stay soft with his face level with my groin, repressing the whine that threatens to leave me.
He holds the shorts out, ready for me to step into them as the shirt stays balanced in his lap. I slide one foot through the opening, placing a hand on his shoulder when I move to insert the other.
Julian flinches underneath my hold, most likely feeling the burning sensation that accompanies my touch, but he does not look up from my feet.
After I’ve stepped in, he drags the fabric up my calves, then my thighs, my skin zapping under the feel of the caress with each passing second.
He is careful not to touch my skin with his own, using the elastic of the shorts to his advantage as he settles them onto my hips without ever looking up and at me naked before him.
Then, Julian stands, and he allows me to slide my arms into the unbuttoned shirt.
“Julian,” I say once the shirt sits firmly on my shoulders. “You’ll need to actually look at me for this next part.”
Brown eyes hide behind clenched eyelids for a moment, him seemingly preparing himself, before he hesitantly looks up at my bare chest.
His fingers shake as he begins to button the shirt, starting from the top.
As the sun sets beyond my window, he speaks.
“It’s almost nighttime.”
“And?” I press, knowing full well what he is implying.
“And I shouldn’t be here much longer. I’m… I’ve been told not to come in here after nightfall.”
I can feel the curiosity burning within him, almost as if it will bleed out and onto the floor beneath us.
His knuckle brushes my stomach as he continues to button, and his breath hitches.
“Yes, I know,” I say. “Are you curious? Are you dying to know what is wrong with me, Julian?”
Large brown eyes snap up to meet mine, his hands freezing.
“Y-yes,” he admits.
“Hmm.” I watch him carefully, seeing the uncertainty and fear dancing in his eyes. But there’s something else too. Desire? Interest?
“It’s not my business,” he suddenly rushes to say. “But I do want to know. Why only after dark? What happens? How did this happen to you when you’re so young?”
“So many questions,” I murmur, and Julian’s eyes fall back to his own hands, and he continues buttoning my shirt.
Once he’s done, he speaks again. “There you are, Young Master Atlas. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Something hot and curious is burning within me now, and I know if he doesn’t leave this room soon, I’ll make a mistake.
It’s almost night, anyway.
“Would you do anything I asked, Julian?”
“Of course, it’s my job,” he responds without hesitation.
“Anything at all? Even… unconventional things?” I allow my own interest to seep into my tone.
I know I’m a tempting thing, and I can see the effects of my own body and voice as his Adam’s apple bobs violently.
“That will be all, thank you,” I concede, and he takes a large step backward.
“Goodnight.” And with that parting word, he flees from the west tower.
I relax immediately, his overwhelming aura and masculine scent leaving with him. Fuck, things are getting bad.
I find myself disgusted with my own intentions, my own vile teasing.
As I turn to face my bed, knowing what probably awaits me once the sun is gone, I almost feel a sense of relief at what’s to come.
At least in the morning, this burning desire will be stifled just a bit.