Summer
There’s nothing like the poignant moment of waking up snuggled by the side of my target, refusing to let go for longer than is acceptable, to make me realize that when my judgment is clouded by the game itself, it’s time to be reminded why I’m playing in the first place.
I enjoyed toying with him way more than I should’ve. Why couldn’t his dick be small or at least average? Then I wouldn’t have caught myself salivating for a taste, one lick away from reaching cock bottom. I mean rock bottom.
My senses went haywire when I saw him asleep next to me this morning.
For all my theories about why he never slept over with hookups, like not wanting an awkward morning, refusing to share a bed, or being afraid of attachments, I firmly believed he wouldn’t allow himself to drift off.
Maybe one day he’ll tell me the reasons for this awkward peculiarity.
But then again, that’s one more thing I shouldn’t let get to me.
I need to focus, and my brother will help with that.
A screening of a horror flick in a theater nearby will serve as a much-needed ride down memory lane.
While Raven used to force me to sit through sci-fi marathons, Milo did the same with this genre.
He lived for the thrill it gave him, and my presence when he was watching such movies was mandatory.
That was our thing. One of the many, in fact.
Our bond, the one many twins share, was stronger than anything.
One neither time nor death could break. I loved my parents dearly, and I want to avenge them, but if there’s one thing that can fuel my drive more than anything in the world, it is the thought that my brother was taken from me. Half of me is dead without him.
Maybe what we had wasn’t the healthiest thing in hindsight, because in many ways we were codependent on each other, but we were so strong together.
Like the world could be ours if we wanted.
Every breath I take now, for however long it may be, is both half a breath without him and one I take for him, too.
Settling at the top-center row with a bucket of popcorn in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, I spot a single other man in the theater, sitting in the bottom rows, far away from me so he won’t spoil my experience.
As the first scene comes into focus, the ache in my heart makes my chest contract, preventing the air from filling my lungs. For the first time, I’ll break the rule of never watching a horror movie without my brother, and there will be no more of that with him.
A good thirty minutes into the movie is when I decide to stuff some popcorn into my mouth, denying myself the option not to swallow. Sometimes it’s the small things amplifying the reminder, like the salty taste and the smell of butter that hits me, making my eyes water.
Too lost in my internal turmoil, I ignore the shadow that settles next to me.
It’s moments before I turn to check who it is.
And in those moments, I realize I don’t need to look to know.
His scent wraps around me like a warm blanket I didn’t know I needed.
But I came here for Milo, and Atlas is invading my most sacred time by showing up uninvited.
Without gracing him with another glance, I place the popcorn on the empty seat next to me and stand, fully intent on leaving. I’m not playing our games here. Not when all that’s on my mind is my brother.
I don’t get to take a single step toward the exit when his hand wraps around my wrist, yanking me down on his lap. In an instant, his arms circle my waist, not letting the thought of standing cross my mind.
“Stay!” His warm breath fans on my ear, a single word balancing the scale between a plea and a command.
Shifting on his lap to face him, I’m sure even in the dark, he sees my eyes shooting daggers at him. His hold on me secures, pulling me closer in response to my not-so-lovey-dovey, I’m-going-to-smother-you-in-your-sleep glare.
“How did you find me?” Did I miss being shadowed? I’m getting sloppy.
“I followed the scent of crazy,” he says, and his lips find my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.
“Stalker much?” I tease, aware I turned him into a lurkologist.
“Only for you, honey.”
His hold loosens while he pulls my hair to one side, burying his face in the slope of my neck.
“So you like horror movies?” he rasps in a deep husky voice, taking my mind off the question at hand.
It’s a heartbeat or two before I get a grip on myself, deciding I can give him a little piece of honesty. The desire to talk about Milo with someone is greater than any self-preservation instinct I possess.
“My brother did.”
“What was he like?” he asks with a kiss to the column of my neck.
Past tense. Like there’s no other scenario for the ‘used to’ my revelation holds. He knows my family is dead. One more piece of information he has about me that is true. The truth that drives me, forcing me to claw my way into his life.
“You’ve done your homework researching me?”
“I have. I want to know you.”
Both of his hands guide mine to entwine my fingers with his, securing his embrace.
I don’t know if it’s the echoes of my past that overwhelm me, but I do feel like talking about Milo just for the sake of bringing up those memories.
“He was a huge troublemaker, a pyro everyone loved. When he would walk into a room, he owned everyone’s attention. Every girl wanted to be with him. Every boy wanted to be him.”
His caress is so gentle that I close my eyes, forgetting for a second the type of warfare we’re leading. But when I open them, my old frenemy Reality reminds me not to let my guard down.
“He would’ve liked you.” Atlas’s lips touch my neck once more, allowing me to feel his smile. “But then again, he always had a crappy taste when it came to his friends.”
A high-pitched jump scare that doesn’t affect me pulls my attention back to the screen.
Milo used to dread those cheap tricks of the genre.
He would’ve hated this movie, and the fact I don’t get to hear it from him makes me close my eyes, forcing the tears to stay behind my eyelids.
Not a single one will be allowed with Atlas around. Ever.
“My brother looked a lot like me, which is not surprising given he was my twin, but sometimes it’s hard to take in my image in the mirror, being reminded of him.” I pause, giving myself the time to swallow the pain stuck in my throat. “He was everything to me!”
This is my truth, laid bare, and I don’t mind if the whole world hears it. But the man who so tentatively holds me in his arms would understand the pain of my loss, and that makes sharing it get tenfold the relief.
“I had a little brother who died. Noah. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.”
In return for my truths, he gives me his. One I already knew, but I didn’t expect him to willingly divulge at this point.
I turn to face him, and what I do next is on instinct.
I free my right hand from his, landing a featherlight caress on his cheek.
My gaze, my gentle touch, and my whole attention belong to him.
His eyes hold mine, and the walls are down.
A single moment of vulnerability I both dread and love at the same time, and I’m sure he feels it too.
We are not people who let our guards down, but sometimes the fake smile can be too much.
When Atlas looks to the side, his walls are back up, but so are mine.
“Don’t assume our sweet talk means you’re off the hook for last night.” His tone has lost the sentiment it held seconds ago, but there’s still not a shred of malice in it.
As my palm leaves his cheek, my attention drifts back to the screen, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I lean in further, my back on his chest, while my fingertips trace the heat at his nape.
“I take it you didn’t like Cindy and Mindy that much?” I let out a silent chuckle, and the vibrations of his own resonate in my chest.
“After the night I had with you, I was forced to use their services.”
I slant my head up so I can observe his face, and in turn allow him to see the smile mine holds.
The image of him, holding his dick in his hand, with me in mind, is making me drown in lust, like a dam breaking, and the flood of that desire settling between my legs.
His arm encircles my waist, while the other envelopes my breasts, clutching hard like I’m his most prized possession.
“Do I hear any complaints about how you spent the night with me?” I taunt.
“Never! Hands down the most unforgettable night of my life . . . so far. But I’ll make sure to return the favor.”
His grasp turns a notch too tight, but I don’t mind that. It’s oddly comforting to be held like this. My free arm finds a resting place over the one holding my waist, and seemingly, there isn’t a thing in the world that would make me want to leave the fortress of serenity his arms provide.
That’s the problem. I shouldn’t lower my guard around him.
“You can try,” I tease, already brainstorming an escape, because nothing about the way he holds me is on my terms. I need control to keep the game exciting for this man.
In another universe, I would’ve stayed in his arms, let him kiss me, touch me the way he wants to, the way I crave to be touched. But here, my plan is already formed, and it’s one Milo would’ve been proud to see me pull off.
It’s no surprise my attempt to stand up fails when Atlas refuses to let go. His grip secures further, fingers digging into my skin.
“I need to use the restroom, so could you please let go?” My plea goes unheeded, as his hold on me remains inescapable. Time to shift tactics. “Maybe you have a kink for being peed on, but I’m not into that shit.”
Booming laughter echoes inside the theater, him making zero effort to conceal it.
His grasp on me loosens, but he doesn’t fully free me until he gives me a fair warning. One I knew would follow.
“If you don’t get back and finish the movie with me, you’ll make me really fuckin’ furious,” Atlas threatens. But what’s he gonna do? He clearly wants me, so no, his words don’t scare me.
Before I’m off his lap, I turn to face him, unable to hold back the smirk crawling on my lips.
“This place would have to catch fire to make me miss your company.”
His touch lingers while releasing me, palms gliding off my body when I stand.
A single step is all I take before his hand takes hold of mine, stopping me and refusing to let go.
My gaze flicks down to where we’re joined before lifting to his face, the screen casting enough light to catch that vulnerability again.
It’s as fleeting as it is potent—his desperation for me not to leave.
What prompts that? But more importantly, how am I going to walk away now after seeing it?
The look on his face drops before his hand does, and I’m sure he dreads having let me see how much he wants me to come back.
I keep telling myself it’s nothing personal what I’m about to do, yet it’s all but impersonal when I take those steps out of the theater, intent on walking away. At least I’ll keep my word. The place would have to catch fire to prevent me from coming back to him . . . and it will.