“Slow,” I say. “My pace. If I say stop, you stop.”
His mouth curves. “You say stop, I’ll go sit my ass in that chair next to Conrad and we pretend I came up here to talk about taxes and excel charts.”
It pulls a short laugh out of me. It helps. “No taxes.”
“Deal.” He tips his head toward the door. “You sure about him?”
“Yes.” I don’t have to think about it. “He’s not leaving. Might as well let him be part of the reason I’m not afraid.”
Atticus’s throat works. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Then we’ll give him something to be jealous about.”
He reaches for my hand, fingers brushing mine first, giving me a second to change my mind. I take his hand and hold on. Heat slides up my arm, settling low and heavy in my belly.
He draws me to the bed, not with dragging force but with an easy sway, like we’re dancing and I’m leading even if it doesn’t look like it.
“Climb up,” he murmurs. “However you want me.”
I do. I sit on the edge, then scoot back, spine propped against the headboard, legs bent. I can see the slice of hallway from here, the outline of Conrad’s shoulder and the top of Zeus’s head in my periphery. I don’t stare. I just…register. Anchor. Remember.
Atticus removes his glasses and sets them on the bedside table, then kneels on the mattress in front of me. His hands go to the hem of my T-shirt.
“This okay?” he asks.
“Yes. This is…outside the lines for you, though. The roof, asking permission.” I search his eyes. “Is this what you want?”
His hands still. “Phoenix. If you were wheelchair-bound and unable to have sex for the remainder of our lives, I’d still want you. I want you…your spirit, your…acquiescence…your submission in any form that it arrives.” The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Do I want you on your knees choking on my cock? Fuck yeah. And we’ll get there again. But right now it’ll be heaven just to sink into your tight pussy and feel you strangle me.”
I swallow. “Good enough.”
Returning to his task, he peels my shirt up slowly, knuckles skimming my ribs, thumbs stroking the sides of my waist. The shirt goes over my head and drops somewhere on the floor. Cool air licks at newly bare skin, followed immediately by the heat of his gaze.
“Fuck, kitten,” he breathes. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
He leans in and kisses my collarbone first. Not my mouth. The move is almost reverent. His lips trail along the ridge of bone, down to the hollow at the base of my throat. Each press is a question:here? here? still good?
I answer with the way my fingers slide into his hair, the way my back arches, offering more.
He smiles against my skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
His hands are everywhere—up my sides, down my arms, cupping my hips. His thumbs draw slow circles that make my breath stutter. He kisses higher, finally catching my mouth, and the methodical, analytical Atticus I know tips over into something hungrier.
But he still doesn’t touch my nipples, or anything else that might drag me closer to climax before he’s ready.
I lose a little time in that kiss, forgetting everything and anything but his touch. When I blink, I’m already under him, my back flat against the sheets, his body a warm, solid weight between my knees. One of his hands laces with mine, pinning it gently above my head. The other charts a path down my side, over the curve of my hip, settling at the back of my thigh while he spreads me open.
“Still green?” he murmurs against my lips.
“Still green,” I breathe.
He grins, shaky around the edges. “Good, because I have been thinking about this for so long it’s starting to qualify as a medical condition.”
I huff out a laugh that turns into a gasp when his hand slides between my thighs. He takes his time, touching my slit like I’m precious and like I’m driving him out of his mind, both at once. He knows what I like; he listened in the shower, watched what worked, filed it away behind his eyes.
“You’re so worked up,” he murmurs, awe in his voice. “We didn’t even have to do much, did we?”
“You’re doing plenty,” I manage.
He hums, pleased. “Gonna do more now.”
