25 | ☕When the CEO Says Be My Girlfriend. ☕ #2
His other hand rested atop hers, fingers lightly curled over her skin, their warmth sinking into her own.
The touch was effortless, instinctive, like he had done it a thousand times before.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Memories from the night before crashed into her like a tidal wave. The confession. The hesitation. The soft, stolen glances. The quiet promise wrapped in the simple, world-altering words: Yes, I'll be your girlfriend.
And now, here she was. In his arms.
Anya's body went rigid, muscles locking as if she had been caught in some forbidden act. She stared down at the hand covering hers, at the way their fingers almost intertwined. It was too much. Too intimate. Too real.
Swallowing hard, she shifted ever so slightly. The movement was small, hesitant, but Atlas stirred in response.
His grip tightened.
A soft sound rumbled from his throat—a quiet sigh of contentment—as he buried his face against the back of her shoulder, as if nuzzling closer to her warmth. His breath ghosted over her skin, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
The morning light crept in through the cracks in the blinds, its soft golden rays brushing against Anya's skin, but the warmth was all wrong. It wasn't the gentle, comforting warmth of a quiet morning. No, this heat was invasive, a heavy presence she couldn't escape.
Her eyes fluttered open, but they felt thick with the last remnants of sleep, her brain not quite catching up with reality.
It was like she was stuck in that awkward in-between space where nothing made sense and the room seemed to spin in circles.
Still, there was something... off. Something tugging at her awareness that she couldn't quite place.
She shifted slightly, only to freeze in panic as something — someone — stirred beside her.
Her heart rate accelerated, and her muscles went rigid, like a deer sensing danger in the brush. There, behind her, was a body. Warm. Solid. Very solid.
The weight of it pressed against her back, and for a fleeting moment, Anya thought she might be dreaming — or worse, having a nightmare. But the steady rise and fall of a chest against her spine told her otherwise. This was real.
And that was when it hit her.
Oh.
She had agreed to be his girlfriend.
That was his chest, his warmth, his arm that was currently a vice around her waist, holding her in place like some kind of human-shaped weighted blanket.
Anya's body went stiff. Every muscle seized at once.
She dared not move. Not even a little. Not even to blink.
Because if she moved, if she did anything, she might disturb this perfectly still moment and...
and what if it wasn't what she thought it was?
What if she had somehow fallen asleep next to a random stranger in some kind of alternate universe?
Slowly, very slowly, she dared to glance down at the hand that was resting over hers. His fingers curled around hers with a possessiveness that had her feeling like a freshly caught fish trapped in a net.
Anya's stomach did an awkward flip, which could have been excitement... or mild terror. She wasn't sure which yet.
The arm around her waist wasn't just resting there. It was a heavy, unyielding thing, wrapped around her with the kind of certainty that could only come from a guy who had no intention of letting go.
Carefully, Anya tried to shift, her movements slow and deliberate, like a cat trying not to wake up a grumpy dog.
She gave a small wiggle, hoping to free herself from the iron grip that held her.
No luck. The arm around her waist was like a steel trap, unyielding and warm in a way that made her feel both trapped and oddly comforted.
She gave it another try, a little more forceful this time. She attempted to pry his fingers from hers, but they didn't budge. It was as if his hand was made of stone, or perhaps it had magically fused with hers in the night. Her frustration spiked.
"Atlas," she whispered, the words escaping in a frustrated hiss. She twisted her head just enough to glare at him, but his eyes remained closed. "Let go."
Still nothing.
Her brow furrowed, and she turned her head even further, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in her peripheral vision. The tension in her shoulders released—only to freeze again. His eyes were wide open.
And they were fixed on her.
Her breath hitched in her throat. There was something about his gaze, something so intense and steady, it made her entire body go stiff.
His expression was unreadable, like someone who'd mastered the art of keeping secrets, but there was something else too—something in the way his eyes lingered on her that made her insides twist in a strange, unfamiliar way.
It wasn't quite a smirk, but it sure felt like one.
She scrambled to find something snarky to say. Anything. But all she could do was stare back at him, feeling ridiculously flustered.
Then, his hand moved—slow, deliberate—and he signed with fluid, precise motions.
Anya scowled, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat suddenly picked up. "Yeah. Away from you."
He didn't flinch. Didn't laugh. His grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly, as though the mere idea of her moving was laughable. His lips twitched—just the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his stormy eyes.
Anya blinked. "What do you mean, no?"
She opened her mouth to retort, ready to fire back something sarcastic, anything to distract from the bizarre, slightly overwhelming way Atlas's grip made her feel.
But before she could get a single word out, his thumb brushed over her hand—slow, deliberate, and with a smoothness that left her speechless.
Her mind ground to a halt.
Her heart, too, seemed to freeze in place, every nerve suddenly aware of his touch. The air around them thickened. It was like the universe had pressed pause on everything except for the way his thumb moved gently over her skin.
Her brain short-circuited. The rational part of her that could form coherent thoughts... was gone. Completely obliterated.
"Well," she finally muttered, forcing herself to speak, though her voice came out a little breathless. "I suppose I'm just stuck with you then."
His lips twitched—a small, barely-there smile that only made her insides do something absurd and fluttery. This man, she thought, this damn man. He was impossible.
But then, just when she thought she might be able to regain some sense of control, his grip on her waist tightened.
Not enough to hurt, but enough that it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
And there it was again—that silent, wicked amusement.
It radiated from him, a quiet intensity that wrapped around her like a heatwave, pushing against her skin and making her feel...
well, things. Ridiculous things. Things that made her feel hot in places she hadn't expected.
Anya rolled her eyes dramatically, trying to summon all the indignation she could muster.
She needed to hold onto some shred of dignity.
Some dignity, she told herself. You're fine.
It's just a little... whatever this is. Nothing to lose your mind over.
But it wasn't working. Her face was turning an impossible shade of red.
"Yeah, great," she huffed, trying to sound as casual as possible even though her pulse had decided to skip a few beats. "I'm gonna need coffee if I'm going to survive this."
Atlas raised an eyebrow—a silent challenge, a gleam in his stormy eyes. He didn't need to say a word. He just signed, one fluid motion of his fingers.
"I'll make it."
Anya sighed, her shoulders slumping dramatically as if she had no other choice but to give in. "Well, okay, you've officially won me over... for now."
Atlas didn't move, didn't flinch. He just held her, his eyes softening as they locked on hers.
There was a quiet, comforting satisfaction in his gaze.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing to her—and he liked it.
She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but it made her stomach flip in that way that was definitely not unpleasant.
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her heart still trying to figure out what to do with itself. "But just so you know," she added, her voice coming out with a mock seriousness she didn't feel at all, "I'm going to make you work for this, you know."
A soft, low chuckle vibrated in his chest, his grip never loosening, the warmth of him pressing against her back. He gave her a look, one eyebrow raised again, and without saying a word, his fingers lightly traced over her hand, as though silently reminding her just who was in control here.
Anya's heart stuttered in her chest, and she swore that it wasn't fair. Not fair at all.
"Alright," she muttered, more to herself than to him, "this is fine. I'm fine. This is totally... normal."
Atlas didn't respond. But the playful glint in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips? That was enough of an answer.