Page 57 of Atlas
I keep going, because I need to. “And it wasn’t . . . good. It wasn’t bad, but it just . . . it felt like something I was supposed to get over with. And I did, but I didn’t feel anything.”
His hand brushes a piece of hair from my cheek. “You felt that kiss we just shared?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Everything else will feel a million times . . . more.”
And then he kisses me again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he heard every word and is trying to rewrite the bad memories.
His fingers curl into the curve of my hip as he backs me up gently, guiding me until I feel the edge of the table behind my thighs. When he pulls away, I can barely breathe.
“I’m not gonna rush you,” he says, voice rough. “I just want to touch you. You good with that?”
I nod, fast.
But he stays right where he is.
“Rue. Tell me yes.”
I look up at him, everything in me trembling, but not with fear. With want.Need.
“Yes,” I say. “Touch me.”
He doesn’t move fast. His hand settles on my waist again, warm and steady, thumb brushing slow circles that make me shiver. He watches me like I might break – not fragile, but precious and for some reason that undoing starts in my chest.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the café,” he murmurs, his mouth near mine. “The way you looked at me with that sweet, nervous energy.”
I breathe out a shaky laugh, and he kisses me again. Slower this time. Lazier. Like we’ve got all the time in the world.
My hands find his shoulders. I feel the tension there, the restraint. He could pin me to the table, kiss me breathless, ruin me in every possible way. But he doesn’t, like he senses this is important to me.
Instead, his mouth trails from mine to my jaw, down to the soft skin below my ear, and I swear I feel it everywhere.
“You smell so sweet,” he murmurs, lips against my neck. “You always smell sweet.”
I tip my head to give him more, because his mouth on my skin makes my knees weak. “It’s just lotion.”
“No, it’s you.”
His hands move to my hips and lift me, like I weigh nothing. I gasp softly as he sets me on the edge of the table. The cold wood against the backs of my thighs sends a shiver up my spine.
Then he steps between my legs, crowding me just enough that I feel the pressure of his body, but still . . . he's holding back.
His hands skim the hem of my dress, teasing just above the knee, fingers warm on my skin.
“If you change your mind, just say the words . . . at any point.”
My voice is barely a whisper. “Okay.”
He leans in again, mouth brushing mine. “You sure about this, Rue?”
I look at him and I know he means it. He’d stop if I blinked the wrong way. I reach for his hand, guide it higher. “I’m sure.”
That’s when something shifts.
His mouth claims mine with more urgency, tongue brushing against mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs. One hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck while the other keeps hold of my thigh, fingers curling tight like he’s been holding back for too long.
I feel his body pressing into mine, hard where I’m soft, and my whole-body lights up like a switch has been flipped.
