Page 21 of Atlas

His jaw slackens in amazement at my words. I don’t see my being polite and kind out there in the world and being absolutely depraved in the bedroom as being a bad thing. I’ve never seen it as wrong or felt ashamed of the things I like.

“Do you like seeing me down here on my knees for you?”

He nods, still not able to say anything.

“I’m so wet right now that I’m going to start dripping down my thighs soon. Would you like to know how I taste?”

“Yes!”

He trembles like a caged animal, still afraid to touch me, afraid to lose himself and let himself go. Afraid to trust again. Afraid that this will ruin us and wreck our world.

“Not yet.” I flatten my hand to his hard abs. The hairs circling his naval and trailing down tickle my palm. “First I want to know what you taste like when you’re coming in my mouth.”

He hesitates, a wounded light flashing in his eyes, doubt crashing down on his brow in a hard frown. “I- you can’t tell just by- by- what it looks like. That’s why I had to have those tests. There’s still… something there.”

I trace my nails down his thigh before I cup his balls gently. I lick along his shaft, sucking the tip of him, teasing him and worshipping him.

“I know you’ve spent a year doubting yourself. It’s been painful and hard. But look at me.”

He is, and I hate the shadows still there, still haunting him.

I lick down the length of his cock and back, sucking his tip before meeting his eyes again. “Perfect,” I hum. “Everyone has their demons. Don’t let this be one of them. I know that it matters to you. It matters so much, and that’s okay, but don’t hate how you were made, because you areperfectlyconstructed. Your body holds the most gorgeous, generous heart. You’d die for the people you love, but you know how to live too. There’s not a person alive who knows you who wouldn’t say that you’re one of the best men out there.”

“Jesus Christ. Stop that.”

“No.” I skate my tongue over his cockhead, humming as I take him into my mouth and then releasing him. “You need to hear it. You need to know. I don’t just want you because you look the way you do. I want you because, in a world full of good looking men, you’re unique. I want you for what’s under your skin too.”

“Bone and blood. That’s all we are.”

“Bone and blood and yourbrain.”

“You can’t prove to me that I’m not some version of broken. I know that medically- I- I wasn’t put together properly.”

I won’t scoff at him. I know how deeply this has wounded him. He explained to me, after months of hinting around it, that he was born without a vas deferens. He can have children, but only with medical aid. He told me that it was basically like he’d been given a vasectomy at birth.

And fucking Jodie used that as her excuse to leave him.

“I might feel the same way if it was me,” I tell him honestly. “I’d be devastated and ashamed, but then I’d need to find my way past that. Don’t let the one percent unhappiness be your world, you deserve to be happy.”

I know, on the outside, he doesn’t. But the inside is a different story.

He’s fighting with himself, and I can’t make him believe something overnight. I take my mouth off him and sit back on my heels, “Look, if you’re having second thoughts and don’t want to do this, that’s okay.”

His lips twitch. He sighs, but there’s humor in it. He’s still half enraptured, and so hard that he’s throbbing right in front of me, but he suddenly looks so very tired. Physically exhausted, and mentally and emotionally too.

I unzip his biker boots and help him step out of them. I peel off his jeans, but slip his boxers back up, tucking his very hard cock in at an awkward angle. I can’t say I’ve ever dressed a man before.

I plant kisses on his abs and up his chest, over his pecs, and up his collarbones to his neck.

I bet that no one has cherished this man’s body before. Not properly.

They might enjoy it, but have they ever paid any attention to anything other than the obvious spots? They probably look at him and think he fucks hard and well. He probably does, but has anyone ever bothered to discover what he likes? To teach him for himself? I went straight for the obvious parts, but what about ticklish spots, a soft whisper of fabric over tender skin, a whisper of lips against his earlobe?

My bed is a queen, but big enough for both of us if we huddle tight. It’s over at the far end of the wide open space, past the living room and kitchen, past my shelves of books, down by the bathroom.

I flick the lights off behind him. One switch controls everything in here but the lamps. Threading my fingers through Atlas’, I guide him straight to my bed.

“What are we doing?” his tone is almost fearful, like he expects me to peel back the blankets and reveal a python that he’s going to have to cuddle up beside.

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