Chapter 7
Damien
Iwake up to fingers massaging my morning wood. And it feels fucking good.
Maybe I should be concerned about how good Atlas is at this, even though I’m the first guy he’s been with. But I’m not concerned at all; I just keep letting myself benefit from it.
After the park, I thought Atlas would be worn out, but as soon as we walked into my apartment, he bent me over the couch and fucked me until I was yelling his name. Whiskey dick does not know Atlas Connors.
We took a drunken shower together afterward, kissing and touching until we collapsed into bed around three in the morning.
And now he’s waking me up three hours later wanting more. I don’t deny him.
What’s wrong with me? I got fucked all night long, and I’m still wanting more in the morning.
I pretend I’m still sleeping, because I feel too heavy to open my eyes.
Atlas kisses my neck lazily, pressing his giant cock against my ass. His movements are slow, like he’s not fully awake, either.
“Damien...” He presses his cock harder against my ass. “Are you awake?”
I arch my back, pressing against his crotch as he massages my growing shaft. “No.”
He snorts against my skin, causing goosebumps to scatter across my shoulder blades. I feel his warmth pull away and hear him scuffling for something on the bedside table.
I whine at the distance, making him laugh again. “I want you to be able to walk tomorrow, alright? Don’t get grumpy with me.”
I hear the cap of something open and close. He shifts back, turning my face over so he can kiss me. Damn it, I hate how good he is at kissing. His tongue is too skilled, which makes me want to ask if I can sit on his face, which is so desperate.
He begins fingering me slowly, pressing against that spot that makes me gasp and whine against his mouth. I know he likes it when I make noise. Every time I do anything that shows I’m enjoying myself, Atlas gets impossibly harder. He’s desperate to please me, and I’m desperate to let him.
When he’s hit his limit, he pushes me face-first into the pillows, hiking my hips into the air. He grabs my butt, spreading my cheeks so he can see me fully, before slapping my ass.
I yelp as he hits me, pushing my ass up for more. I glance between my legs to see precum dripping from my cock.
He squeezes the sore cheek. “That’s for rushing me earlier. And I knew you got around, but what I just saw was unexpected.” Atlas kisses my butt, sucking in the skin to mark me as his. “You’ll have to show me what all those toys in your bedside drawer do.”
“Stop teasing me,” I groan.
He presses a finger inside of me. “Should I use that purple dildo on you instead?”
“Shut up,” I say, but there’s no bite behind it.
Atlas chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, probably not. I’m pretty sure I’m bigger, anyway.”
He slips another finger inside me, stretching me out around him.
“Atlas...”
I feel him press a few kisses between my shoulder blades. “What do you want, baby?”
“For you to drill me into the fucking bed,” I bite out.
“Say please.”
My patience snaps. “Atlas, if you don’t fucking—oh!”
He doesn’t let me finish. He sinks into me with no warning. His thick cock spreads me around him like I’m putty.
“Oh fuck, you feel so good.” He grabs my ass, dragging his palms down to my muscled thighs.
He fucks me slow and hard until I’m begging for him to let me come, something I’ve never done with my other hookups. His cock must have brainwashed me.
But he doesn’t rush, no matter how much I beg.
“You’re so hot when you’re needy.” His big hand strokes up and down my spine as he spears into me. “But I rushed last night, so let me savor you now.”
A flush of heat washes through me at his words. I let him take his time until I can’t anymore.
“Atlas.” A wave of emotion washes over me. “Atlas, please.”
He pulls me up by my throat until my back is flush with his chest. “You’re taking me so well, Dame.”
Tears roll down my cheeks, the constant edging driving me insane.
Atlas’s eyes widen. “Fuck, you’re even pretty when you cry.”
He bites my neck as he quickens his speed, his hips slapping me punishingly.
“Oh, God. Atlas, fuck.” My voice sounds broken and embarrassingly whiny.
“Make a mess.” His voice curls around me, dark and addicting.
I tangle my hands into his hair, his hips slamming against me, my voice calling his name over and over again until I’m coming all over my sheets.
“Fuck, you did so well, Dame.” He peppers kisses on my shoulders as his hand tightens around my neck. “You’re so pretty. So perfect.”
He sounds delirious, praise dripping from his mouth like he can’t help it.
“Atlas, come inside me.”
I feel his cock jump, his hands gripping my skin like he needs me. “Oh, baby, say it again.”
I pant with every thrust. “Come inside me. Fill me up.”
His teeth sink into my neck as his wet heat bursts inside of me and drips down my thighs.
We both fell back asleep like nothing even happened, and I wake up a few hours later, back sore and ass throbbing.
For a second, I don’t move.
The morning light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft and pale across the sheets, and everything feels strangely quiet. The city outside is already awake, cars moving below, sunlight reflecting off gleaming buildings in sharp streaks, but my apartment feels still.
Atlas is asleep beside me, one arm heavy across my waist, his face pressed halfway into my pillow.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment, trying not to think too hard about how normal this looks.
About how easy it would be to get used to this.
That thought is enough to make me sit up.
The movement pulls a dull ache through my body. I exhale sharply and rub a hand over my face before carefully untangling myself from Atlas’s arm. He doesn’t wake up.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand.
10:07 a.m.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
Most hockey players are incapable of sleeping past eight, even hungover. Atlas somehow looks fully committed to hibernation. I mean, I guess he did wake up at six...
I drag myself out of bed and pull on a pair of underwear before heading toward the kitchen. Every step reminds me that last night happened.
The park.
The walk home.
The way Atlas kissed me like he’d been trying not to for weeks.
And then everything after that.
I shove the thought away before it settles too deeply.
Coffee first.
Existential crisis later.
The air is cool against my skin as I move through my kitchen, sunlight cutting across the marble countertops in clean lines. I start the coffee machine on autopilot, then dig through a drawer for aspirin. My hangover feels less like pain and more like punishment.
I dry swallow two pills and lean against the counter while the coffee brews.
That’s when my brain betrays me completely and starts replaying last night again.
I’ve had casual sex before. Lots of it, actually. I’ve always liked things simple and physical, because physical is easy. It starts, it ends, and nobody expects anything afterward. I don’t like the guy and he doesn’t like me, but we find each other attractive enough for one night.
Atlas is annoyingly likable. I like the way he fills silence without forcing it. I like the way he notices things about me without making it obvious. I like that he never looks at me like I’m broken, even when he clearly sees the damage.
And worst of all…
He’s fucking nice.
Actually nice.
Not performative. Not strategic.
Just genuinely good in a way that feels dangerous to be around.
My phone buzzes against the counter, pulling me out of my head.
Your Father.
My mood immediately drops.
I stare at the screen for a second before opening the message.
Need a favor.
That’s it. No greeting. No explanation. Just those three words.
I laugh quietly under my breath, but there’s no humor in it.
He only ever reaches out when he needs something. My jaw tightens as memories rise before I can stop them.
The shouting.
The drinking.
The nights he came home angry because somebody wanted money he didn’t have.
And finding a way to pay that debt by using his pretty boy son.
I close the message without responding. I spent years digging myself out of the hole he dropped me into, and somehow he still finds ways to reach into my life whenever it starts feeling stable.
The worst part is that seeing his name immediately ruined whatever fragile peace I had this morning.
It reminds me of things I try very hard not to think about.
People like Atlas don’t end up with people like me.
Not really.
Atlas grew up taking care of people.
I grew up surviving them.
I glance toward the bedroom, toward the shape of him still buried under my blankets.
He deserves someone uncomplicated.
Someone without the kind of past that resurfaces every time life gets too calm.
And I…
I am not that person.
The coffee mug suddenly feels too warm in my hand.
I pour a second cup anyway and head back to the bedroom.
Atlas has shifted slightly since I left, one arm stretched across the mattress, his hair sticking up in several directions. He still looks deeply asleep.
“Atlas,” I say.
Nothing.
I set the coffee down on the nightstand. “Connors.”
He groans quietly before cracking one eye open. “You’re loud,” he mumbles.
“It’s ten in the morning.”
He groans, his normally carefully styled brown hair in his eyes. I snort despite myself.
His gaze drifts downward slowly, taking in the fact that I’m only wearing underwear. “You look good in the morning,” he says sleepily.
The compliment lands harder than it should.
I hand him the coffee, mostly to distract myself. “You’re hungover,” I say.
He sits up, kissing my shoulder in a tender way that I try to ignore before he takes his coffee.
“Thanks.”
I lean against the wall near the bed, crossing my arms loosely.
Atlas watches me over the rim of the mug for a moment before his expression shifts slightly. “What?” he asks.
I hesitate. “I had…fun last night.”
He snorts, his eyes flicking up to mine. A consuming heat glows in his brown irises. “Yeah, I did, too.”