Page 98 of Princes of Carnage

“Just focus on me,” he breathes. His voice is low and soft, meant only for my ears in this moment. His amber tinged eyes burn with something I can’t identify, and they bore right into mine. “Don’t think about anyone else right now. Okay?”

I swallow hard and then drag in a deep breath. Something about the feeling of his hands on me and his words filtering into my ears helps to center me. The thoughts and emotions that were spiraling so chaotically in my head settle into a muffled roar, allowing me to do as he says. To focusing solely on him.

“Okay,” I whisper.

His touch is grounding in a way I definitely need, and I stare into those arresting eyes of his. Under the lights, they glow a warm brown, the amber near the irises turning almost gold. It feels like I could sink into that color, like I could drown in it. I’m so intensely aware of him. Of the way he smells, the way he feels. Of every line of his face.

Atlas slides his hands down from my jaw to my neck and then over my shoulders. I shiver at his touch, letting out a shaky exhale and leaning into it just a bit. His hands drift downward even more, skimming over my back and my ass, and then back up. He grabs the zipper on my dress and starts to slide it down, releasing the silky material from my body.

I suck in a breath as the fabric slides down, and Atlas helps shimmy it over my hips so that I can step out of it.

All that leaves me in is a bra and panties, and without the added layer of my dress, it’s like I can feel the weight of every single gaze on me. The gathered crowd watches me eagerly, the three men in the front row openly leering, and I go stiff and tense again, moving my hands like I want to cover myself up.

But Atlas catches my wrists before I can, bringing my hands up to rest against his chest instead.

“Don’t think about them,” he reminds me softly. “Like they’re not even here. They don’t fucking matter, vicious. Keep your eyes on me. Only me.”

I nod, staring into his eyes. I don’t think I could look away if I tried. And god, I don’t want to. Not when he’s the only thing keeping me from crumbling to pieces.

His hands move down my arms and back around to undo my strapless bra, freeing my tits as it falls away. More panic tries to rise up, making my chest heave as I struggle to catch my breath, and Atlas steps even closer to me.

“I’m right here. Think about how my hands feel on you,” he murmurs, skating his hands over my breasts and over my ribs. I make a soft noise, hyperaware of the slight roughness of his palms and the warmth of his skin as he touches me.

He hooks his fingers in my panties and drags those down too, and my brain is screaming that I’m naked on this stage except for my heels.

My face burns in a blush, but I don’t look away from Atlas.

He doesn’t look away from me either. He takes me in, the heat of his gaze sweeping over my body, and it’s so much easier to focus on the way he looks at me than the way the crowd of people around us are watching.

Then Atlas moves back a bit, just enough that he can shuck his suit jacket and pull off his tie. He starts to unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned chest and muscular arms and the tattoos and scars he has.

Someone in the crowd whistles appreciatively, but this time, I’m only vaguely aware of the sound. This is the first time I’ve ever seen Atlas like this, and he’s… beautiful. Not as bulky or big as Killian, but well defined and muscled, with a body that looks like it was made for fighting. The swirling ink on his skin is the perfect complement to the rippling muscles beneath, and there’s a light dusting of chest hair across his pecs.

He keeps watching me as he takes off his shoes and pants, kicking them to one side. Then all that’s left is his black boxer briefs, and I can’t stop my gaze from tracking the movement as he tugs the waistband outward a little and then slides them down his legs.

When my gaze travels back up to his cock, my breath catches as I realize that he’s hard. His cock juts out from his body, thick and long and slightly curved, and my attention snags on the shiny silver piercing at his tip, the metal flashing in the light.

I can’t believe he’s already turned on, but there’s no denying the physical response in him that’s so clearly visible. Maybe he’s into being watched. Maybe having so many people staring at him while he’s naked is what does it for him.

But somehow… I don’t think that’s what it is.

Which means that despite everything, despite the situation we’re in, forced to perform for a crowd, needing to watch ourselves so we don’t do the wrong thing and fuck all of this up…

Despite all of that, he’s hard.

For me.

That thought does something to me, making my stomach swoop and my heart flutter. A little spark flares to life inside me, and it’s so much better than the cold anxiety I was feeling about being fucked in front of everyone.

Instead of being about them and their pleasure, their fucked up little show, this is about me and Atlas.

Just the two of us.

That thought fans the spark of heat flickering low in my belly, and instead of fighting to extinguish it the way I’ve been doing around this man for weeks now, I lean into it.

Forcing my stiff body into motion, I slip my shoes off and step forward, closing the distance between us again and wrapping my arms around his neck.

Atlas’s breath catches as our bodies come into contact, our chests pressed together, skin against skin.

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