Page 102 of Princes of Carnage

Every slide of his cock against my inner walls pushes me closer to the edge and makes it harder for me to hold back. Not that I want to. Even with all these people watching, I’m past the point of caring or holding back. All I want to do is fall apart and feel the orgasm that’s building slowly in my core.

The pleasure is white hot and electric, racing down my spine and pooling in my belly, sparking higher and higher every time he bottoms out inside me.

“Quinn,” Atlas breathes, a sheen of sweat glinting on his brow as a lock of black hair falls over his forehead. “Come for me. Fuck. Please. I want to feel you come on my cock. Let go, vicious. For me. Just for me.”

There’s something about the way he says it—the way he’s almost begging me to come for him, the need in his voice so clear—that cuts through the last thread holding me back.

All I can do is give in, falling apart with a low cry as my body trembles from the force of the orgasm that roars through me. I arch and buck against him, nails digging into his shoulders, holding on tight as I ride out the sheer pleasure that threatens to suck me under.

And Atlas watches all of it. He watches and fucks me through it, his hips stuttering as my pussy spasms around him.

That must be enough to pull his orgasm from him, because a second later, he curses under his breath and slams into me one last time, filling me up with his cum.

32

QUINN

For a moment, the whole world seems to stand still.

Atlas and I are both breathless in the aftermath, caught up in the sensation of what just happened. I can feel every hot pulse of his cock as he empties himself in me completely, and as he finally starts to soften, we just stare at each other.

Our faces are close together, sweat-slicked bodies intertwined, and I can tell that we’re both still reeling from the intensity of it all.

Atlas’s eyes roam over my face as if he’s searching for something, and I just take him in, lost in the comfort of his citrus and sandalwood scent mixed with mine, and the way he feels as he holds on to me.

The moment doesn’t last long though. The bubble pops after a few more heartbeats, and the sounds of the crowd start to filter back in. Catcalls and wolf whistles and someone’s voice above the din shouting, “Fuck her again! Fuck her until she begs you to stop!”

Hearing that is like a bucket of cold water to the face, and the reality of what just happened comes flooding back in. We’re still at Eros, still with a dangerous mission hanging over our heads. My body goes tense again, and Atlas must be able to feel it, because he finally slides out of me, a gush of cum spilling from me as he does.

My stomach dips as I feel the sticky wetness trailing over my skin. Fuck, we didn’t even have a chance to talk about protection or anything.

I stare down the length of my body between us, looking at the smear of cum across my thighs.

“I’m clean,” Atlas murmurs, dipping his head so the words are for my ears only. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

I don’t ask how he knew what I was thinking. Instead, I just nod and let out a breath. With every passing second, the safe little bubble Atlas and I created is slipping further and further away, and I can feel all those eyes on me, the crowd tracking my movements as I sit up on the bed.

“Fuck, look at those tits,” someone says in a lascivious tone. “I’d like to get my mouth on those.”

I curl my hand into a fist and try not to react to that, and Atlas helps me get to my feet and then casually steps in front of me, shielding me from view as much as possible.

It’s hard when there are so many people out there, and when the stage has basically a three-sixty view of the room. But I appreciate the gesture all the same. At least he’s standing between me and the three men who started this all, keeping them from being able to ogle me any more than they already have.

A woman in a slinky black dress comes up to the stage with a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She has a businesslike manner that makes me think she works here, and when she gestures us off the stage, that basically confirms it.

Atlas grabs our clothes and hands me my dress, bra, and panties, and I pick up my shoes quickly as we leave the stage. It’s a relief to duck into the little alcove that the woman points us to, where we’re mostly hidden by a velvet curtain as we get dressed.

My skimpy little dress doesn’t hide much, but it’s better than being butt ass naked with all those people watching. It feels like putting my armor back on, even though it doesn’t cover nearly as much as I would like.

Once Atlas has his clothes back on as well, he looks down at me. It seems like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to say it—or doesn’t know what he wants to say.

Before he gets a chance to figure it out, the woman from before shows up again. She pokes her head into the alcove with that same polite smile.

“Mr. Locke was very impressed with your performance up there,” she says briskly. “It was much more sensual, more… intimate, than what we usually see on our stage. He’d like to speak with you in his private lounge.”

My heart lurches with shock and excitement, and I fight the urge to look up at Atlas. This was definitely not at all how I intended to get into the back to see Vincent, but we’d have to be idiots to turn it down.

Atlas looks at me, questioning, and I nod. It’s the best chance we’re going to get.

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