Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
MAX
Going to bed with someone was a completely foreign experience to me. Not, like, sex. Which obviously I wasn’t very experienced at, either, but Atlas and I were working on that.
Actively. Often.
Atlas. His name sounded so right in my head. I wanted to say it over and over so I could memorize the way the letters moved on my tongue.
Atlas.
Atlas.
Atlas.
By now, I’d said it out loud plenty while we tested the functionality of the nest I built from the blankets he brought me. I was very proud to say it held up under scrutiny, even with the way he’d thrust up into me while I rode his cock so hard the headboard banged against the wall.
But actually lying down in my bed with someone else? To sleep? Brand new.
Adjusting the nest on my side one last time, I slid in. “How are you going to sleep in that thing?” I asked, gesturing to the mask.
He shrugged, mirroring me on the other side of the bed. “You get used to it.”
I wouldn’t. I’d have clawed my face off by now. “Suit yourself.”
Really, I wanted him to take it off. But the request felt like opening a can of worms, and everything was so perfect I didn’t want to mess it up.
He reached over and fiddled with the buttons on my pajama top. “I’ve never seen anyone except you wear actual pajamas to bed, you know. It’s really cute.”
I blushed. “They feel good. They’re cotton. Same with the sheets. I don’t know how people sleep in polyester.” I shuddered.
He snorted. “Come here, my high-maintenance omega.”
I grumbled the whole time he tucked me into his side, but couldn’t help secretly loving being called his.
Then I wondered how we’d actually fall asleep next to each other. I was between waves, and we needed to save our energy, which was a pity. Would we just stare into each other's eyes until peacefully falling asleep?
Maybe he’d whisper sweet nothings into my ear, or tell me his favorite bedtime story?
The bright glow of his phone answered my question. “Seriously?” I asked. “Being on your phone before bed is bad for you, you know.”
He carded his fingers through my hair. “I have to check on my quetzal.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“My quetzal. I started it this morning and totally forgot. I need to swap it for my anteater before bed.”
Alarmed, I sat up. “Are you having a stroke? Lift both arms, please.”
He chuckled. “I am not having a stroke. It’s Wordscapes. My team is in a tournament.”
I sighed. “Thank God. Mr. Marino already thinks I lock men in here. When he gets back, I’m not explaining an ambulance hauling out a giant masked man.” Then I registered the rest of his sentence. “Wait, you play a word game?”
Looking up from his phone, he narrowed his eyes. “You lock men in here? Who? When?”
I laughed, a high-pitched wheeze that was light years away from cute, and reached for his phone. “You cannot seriously be jealous that I locked someone in my bedroom. Show me this game.”
He held the phone out of my reach. “When did you lock someone in here? And why does he know that? I thought you said he doesn’t visit you.”
Exasperated, I threw myself down onto the pillows. “You, you thick-headed alpha. I locked you in here, remember? When you had to crawl out the window because he was at the door?”
“Oh.” He had the decency to look chastened.
“Yeah, oh. Now, what in the world is a quetzal?”
He shimmied over so his head rested on my stomach and let me peer over his shoulder while he very proudly showed off his massive collection of—thankfully digital—animals, giving lots of detail about the benefits of each one in the game.
I wouldn’t remember any of it ten minutes from now. I would, however, never forget how adorable he was when he really got going on something.
“Such a nerd,” I said when he finished. But I rested my hand on his chest, sliding it back and forth across his dolphin T-shirt, and gave him a comforting pat. “Who knew you were all muscle and brains?”
I swore the bridge of his nose turned pink. “It’s just guessing words.”
I chuckled again and left him to it, reaching for my own phone so I could do some scrolling myself.
Except I forgot one very important thing.
Critical, I’d say.
Gwen’s comments about MaskTok made me curious, and I may have done some research of my own.
Thorough research. With notes. I could make a PowerPoint.
Which meant the first video that popped up when I opened TikTok was of a man dressed in full cosplay gear, wearing a military-style helmet and vest with black eye makeup smudged beneath a skull mask, stalking toward the camera.
And blaring at full fucking volume was an audio of a man very obviously jerking off, moaning and sighing and begging to finally be allowed to come.
I scrambled to shut the app, mute the volume, or chuck the whole thing out the window—any of which were preferable to my current circumstances—but in my haste I fumbled the phone and dropped it.
Right onto my nose.
The immediate tang of blood filled my nostrils and dripped onto my mouth.
“Ow!” I said, more in surprise than anything else. I tried to stem the flow with my hand, but upon seeing a good amount of blood on my fingers, I cursed and tipped my head back.
Atlas reacted quickly, his eyes going comically wide, and sat up onto his knees, batting my hand away to hold my nose himself. “What the—what happened? Why are you bleeding?”
“Give me my phone,” I said, patting around on the bed to find it before it auto-looped.
I’d die if he saw that video.
“Can we please focus on you not bleeding first?” he asked, grabbing a handful of tissues from the nightstand to wipe off my face.
I glared at him. “It’s a nosebleed, not a mortal wound. Now give me my phone back.”
The command would’ve held more sway if I didn’t sound like Squidward with a cold.
Great. First night with the hot masked man and I’d given myself a nosebleed. How sexy. I supposed my earlier fears that giving in to him would be dangerous were founded; I just didn’t predict the blood would be my fault.
Aaaaand then the audio looped, loud and clear for us both to hear.
Apparently he’d missed it the first time in the scuffle, but it did not escape his notice a second time.
“What are you watching?” he asked, swiping the phone up from where it’d fallen next to me.
“Nothing. Give it back.”
It auto-played again, and Atlas watched, eyebrows creeping higher and higher with each heavy breath and moan until they disappeared above the mask.
I tried to roll away—preferably out the window and into traffic—but he stopped me, still applying gentle pressure to the bridge of my nose.
“Max?”
I ignored him.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
“No, thanks.”
“I could pretend to snatch your nose to make you laugh, if that would make this easier.”
“Oh my God, never do that,” I said, glaring at him.
The creases around his eyes gave away his grin. “Gotcha.”
Ugh. I tried to roll over again, but he splayed out on top of me, effectively boxing me in.
“So. You’re into this stuff?” he asked, gesturing to his mask.
“No! I was just curious. Plus, I had to make sure you weren’t on there. I’d rather you just kill me than find out I’m one of your many thirsty fans,” I said with a sniff.
“Mmhmm.” He released my nose and turned my head this way and that, inspecting it. “Bleeding’s stopped. I think it’s safe to say you’ll live. No permanent damage.”
“Are you sure? I could go for a lobotomy right about now.”
“Fortunately for me, your sparkling personality and sense of humor remain intact. And so is your adorable nose.”
I sighed and refused to look at him, but my omega couldn’t help but purr at the compliment. No one’s ever called our nose cute before.
Ugh. Stop it.
“So,” he prompted, grinding himself down onto me through our sleep pants. “You like the mask.”
Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Did it take you this long to figure that out?”
“Just good to know it’s not a hardship for you.”
I finally looked at him. Of course he was teasing, but there was something in his gaze that softened. Maybe a brick in those big, tall walls of his had crumbled, allowing a glimpse of the man behind them.
He wanted me to like the mask.
“Yeah,” I said, cupping his face, snarling canine teeth and all, between my hands. “I like the mask.”
He knocked his forehead into mine, wordlessly saying so many things. Gently, he shuffled me out of bed to the bathroom, where he cleaned my face and hands with such tenderness it made my heart pitter-patter in my chest.
Then, as if needing to balance the moment, he tossed me over his shoulder, ass in the air, and threw me back in our nest.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m way better than any of those wannabes,” he growled, crawling over me to tickle my ribs until I squirmed and screeched in laughter. “None of them even come close.”
If I were being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure anyone would. I hadn’t felt so comfortable, so safe and at peace in years. Maybe ever.
That little light in me, the one that glowed in solidarity with the house across the lake, flared so brightly it was almost blinding.