It’s about need.
It’s about this wild, impossible ache in my chest whenever I look at her.
And if I’m a little rough, a little unrelenting tonight—it’s because I don’t know how else to show her just how much she means to me.
I want her marked by more than my name.
I want her to carry the imprint of my soul.
Because maybe I’m already carrying hers.
Chapter Twenty-Six-Cecilia
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Atlas is fucking my ass.
I know he’s not all the way in.
But he is inside me. There.
Christ, he’s so big and thick. I can feel him stretching my tender no-longer-virgin asshole, and what’s even crazier.
I don’t hate it.
Not even a little bit.
In fact, the things he’s saying? The praise and dirty talk? Coupled with the fingers he shoved in my pussy and the other one rubbing my clit?
To be honest, it feels good.
Really fucking good.
And I mean that in a way that’s more than just the physical—though that alone is amazing.
This feels like more than just raunchy sex. It feels like he’s claiming me.
And I am so here for it. For this. For him, pushing the envelope with me in more ways than one.
I’ve always been an independent woman except for the duration of my shitty engagement to Alfred.
Even then, our sex life was dull and monotonous.
Being with Atlas is nothing like that.
And this here is the proof.
Because with him? I can let go.
I can experiment and explore.
I can allow him to lead.
Because I know he’ll take care of me.
Just like he is right now.
“Damn right, I’ll take care of you, agapi mou. Fuck, you look so good like this. Your asshole is so tight and warm. You're squeezing my cock so good, Cece. Just a little more, that’s it,” he growls, and I keen at his praise.
