Chapter Fifty-Two
AJ
There was a definite shift since I finally told him my story. And, to a lesser extent, since he told me his.
I don’t really think I realized how heavy the weight of keeping my past a secret was weighing on me until I told someone about it.
I mean, sure, I didn’t tell him everything. Years of grooming and abuse couldn’t be covered all in one conversation. But he knew enough to understand.
And, God, it felt good to be understood.
I’d kind of… hinted at an abusive ex when talking to Ella about her own ex, wanting her not to feel so alone, and feeling like she could unload on me and would be met with an understanding ear.
But I’d never outright told someone about Joss.
All the ugly details.
I think some part of me had been worried that if I told someone, they might look at me differently. For staying. For enduring. For not calling the police, pressing charges, getting myself out of that mess sooner.
Hell, there were times early on when I was thinking those things about myself. Before I even heard the term ‘grooming,’ let alone understood it. Before the concepts of ‘love bombing’ and ‘gaslighting’ meant anything to me.
I’d been trying to understand, little by little over time, what had happened, why I had stayed, and what was driving Joss to continue to follow me around.
I knew that, eventually, I would benefit from some actual therapy. But until the day when I wasn’t afraid of Joss being able to access my records came, I didn’t feel safe going to see anyone.
I’d just been doing research on my own, going to forums for other abuse survivors, reading their stories, hearing what their therapists said that really helped them see the situation in a new light.
It all helped.
I knew there were times when I still cowered when faced with someone’s possible disappointment and apologized for things that weren’t my fault. Or even how I sought approval or validation because I’d been so starved of them.
But I’d come a long way.
Now, I hoped, with sharing my story, with not having to keep it like a dirty secret anymore, it would help me even more.
It wasn’t that I wanted to talk about it constantly or anything like that. But if it came up. Or if I wanted to explain why I’d reacted a certain way. It was an option now with Atlas.
As for his backstory, well, that was pure insanity.
I mean, I did know from being around for as long as I had, that Navesink Bank was this unusual town full of interesting criminal organizations.
The Mallicks’, of course. Loan sharks and enforcers. Essentially, kneecap-breakers.
Then Ella had mentioned once having a crush on a guy in school who belonged to the local MC. A club full of arms-dealing bikers.
I’d even heard rumors about the mafia in the area.
So, really, it wasn’t so hard to believe that there was a family of former armed robbers in the town as well. Or that Atlas was one of them.
The only person I found it hard to believe had that past was Kingston himself.
The man just seemed so calm, well-rounded, and kind.
It was strange to imagine him younger and full of so much grief and vengeance that he would, essentially, lead his younger siblings into a dangerous scheme to get revenge.
That said, I guess some of the most interesting, non-judgmental, and kind people I’d met in my life were the ones who’d lived very unconventional lives.
Time had matured and softened Kingston. And, of course, his wife and kids likely only took him even further from that old life.
It wasn’t hard for me to picture the grumpy Nixon as being that angry. Or even the jocular Rush being willing to partake.
I didn’t know Scotti well enough to draw any conclusions.
As for Atlas, well, he was an adrenaline junkie. He liked all things dangerous. I imagined that a much younger version of him would be even more unruly, more prone to engage in questionable situations.
Besides, that was all the past.
I, more than most people, could understand how the people we once were, weren’t the people we were now.
So I wasn’t off-put by his confession.
If anything, it just seemed to intensify our bond.
That morning had been the first time in over a week that I’d had peaceful sleep.
Sure, maybe you could say it was because of the all-nighter. But I was inclined to believe it was because the tension in our house had dissipated.
I’d been half-awake when I heard Atlas softly knock on my door before pushing it open, and rolling inside to come over to my side of the bed.
He didn’t immediately call out or try to touch me.
He seemed to sit there for a moment, looking at me. Something that had my belly wobbling. Especially after I realized that I’d somehow wiggled out from under the covers and was lying there in nothing but my panties and an old tee that was tight and worn soft from too many washings.
I swear I could feel his gaze drifting over my bare legs, the peekaboo effect of my shirt with my belly, and the way my breasts were straining against the material, my nipples pebbled underneath, thanks to the chill in the room.
He didn’t try anything, though.
And I couldn’t tell you why I was so disappointed about that fact as his fingers lightly brushed some hair out of my face.
“Time to get up,” he said, voice soft.
It was then I remembered that I only had a few minutes to get up and get to work, so the magic of the moment fell completely away, leaving me rushing around to do a quick body wash, get dressed, and make my way out, leaving Samson with Atlas, since it would only be a few hours.
In my hand was a little brown baggie full of snacks and a sandwich Atlas had actually prepped for me.
And I think I fell a little bit in love with him right then and there.
When I got home that evening, Atlas was showered, changed, had done some cleaning, and ordered dinner.
Which we ate on the couch, watching one of his favorite movies.
It was just so… domestic.
Comfortable.
Like it was before the whole distance thing, but better. Because there were no secrets between us anymore.
I ended up, just like the last time, falling asleep right there beside him, eventually curling off to the other side, my legs finding their way up and onto his lap.
I couldn’t say how much later it was, but I woke up to the feel of his fingers gently massaging my foot, thumb pressing in at my perpetually achy arch.
I hadn’t been prepared for the way desire sparked through my system at the chaste touch. It was like there was a little, shivery thread of desire from my foot right to my core.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t even open my eyes.
I just lay there still, not wanting to do anything that would stop him as his fingers continued to work magic on my one foot, before switching to the other.
His fingers drifted up to my ankles, just a soft touch that hit a tickle spot, making my body jerk as my eyes shot open.
“Feet are fine, but the ankles, those get you,” he said, shooting me a soft smile as his fingers teased up my legs, over my calves, finding no other spots until he reached the underside of my knee, making my leg kick out, my foot slamming into the arm of the couch.
“Anywhere else?” he asked, amused by finding little hot spots like that, but not exploiting them, not tickling and teasing as I squirmed and begged for him to stop.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, taking a deep breath as his fingers moved up over my knees.
Sure, I’d been with Joss for years.
But he never seemed interested in actually exploring my body. To him, there were only three interesting parts of the female anatomy, and he used them to his pleasure, not to try to learn about mine.
As silly as it was, given I was far from a virgin, this felt new and exciting as Atlas’s fingers drifted up over my thigh, his fingers moving in a side-to-side motion that made me wish I hadn’t slipped on my thick sweatpants, and had opted for the thin, silky ones. Or none at all.
Without any thought at all, one of my legs fell open, inviting a more intimate touch, and I felt Atlas run his fingertips up the inner side of my thigh, making that sensation in my core intensify.
But just as I was sure his fingers would move between, would touch me where I was aching for it, he shifted away, teasing over the waistband of my pants, then up my belly until he couldn’t reach anymore. Stopping a disappointing inch from the underside of my bra.
When I thought the sweet exploration might just end like that, though, Atlas’s fingers slid back down my belly toward my pants, but this time, he hooked the material. And, gaze on mine, watching for anything that didn’t resemble whole-hearted consent, he started to draw them down.
Anticipation sizzled across my nerve endings.
And there was the slightest twinge of uncertainty, of discomfort at something new, that I quickly squashed down, the other part of me too turned on and intrigued to deny myself this because of some frazzled nerves.
My feet pressed into the arm of the couch, allowing me to bridge upward a few inches, so he could draw the pants down over my ass, before continuing to slide them down my thighs, legs, and off of each ankle.
Finished, he looked back at me, eyes heated, as his fingers once again started at my ankles and moved upward, but this time avoiding the places he knew tickled. Intent, it seemed, on creating an entirely different sensation in my body.
He’d barely reached my knee when I had to admit that he’d accomplished his goal.
My body felt overheated, yet goosebumpy, and there was this deep pressure in my core that made it hard to think of anything but the relief of it as my thighs pressed together to try to ease the ache between.
Until Atlas’s fingers were drifting up the inside of my knee, making my legs shamelessly fall open once again, inviting more.
He was happy to oblige, his fingers tracing the same path up to the innermost part of my thigh.
Then, making a jolt of desire course through me, teasing the line where my panties met my thigh, following it up to my hip, across my belly, and then down the other side.