Page 8 of Atlas
I go to him, placing my hands on his shoulders and climbing over his lap. “I saw her leaving here just now, and she was rude.” I rub myself against him and slide the straps from my bra, down. “I need a release,” I add, cupping his head in my hands and guiding him to my breasts.
He pulls back suddenly, lifting me from him and standing. “Stop,” he snaps. Grabbing his own T-shirt and pulling it on. “Let me get this straight. You think I fucked a club girl, and then you come in here to fuck anyway?” When he says it like that, it sounds bad, but I shrug, pushing down my embarrassment. “You’re just gonna fuck me after I fucked someone else?”
“I can get her back if you wanna try a threesome.”
He growls and balls his fists by his sides. “Get out,” he spits.
“What?”
“Get the hell out,” he repeats.
“Atlas, come on,” I say with a small laugh. “What’s wrong?”
He crowds me, and I back up to the door with him towering over me. “I am done with this bullshit,” he snaps. “I’m not being your secret fuck buddy for another second.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly. I’m gonna find myself a woman who wants me for me.”
“I want you for you,” I argue. “Things are just weird at the moment.”
“So, tell me,” he snaps. “Tell me what’s going on in your life right now.”
I clam up. The way he’s towering over me and hissing his words, it reminds me of Damian, and I immediately recoil. “Exactly,” he snaps. “You use me, and I’m done with it, so get the hell out and don’t come back.”
“So much for not giving up on me,” I mutter, dipping under his arm and grabbing my discarded clothes. I head for the door, and he slams his hand against it.
“Get dressed,” he orders.
I scoff, grabbing the door handle and ripping it open. I storm down the stairs, and London steps in my path. “Hey, slow down. Where’s the fire?”
“I need to go,” I snap, feeling the tears on my lash line.
“Okay, and you can, but get dressed first.”
I hear his heavy boots coming up behind me and stiffen. “Nita,” he murmurs.
“I’m going,” I snap, moving around London.
He continues to follow me as I step outside into the open. “Get dressed,” he repeats. I unlock the car and pull the door open, throwing my clothes in the back. “Nita, you can’t drive half-naked.”
I narrow my eyes. “You think I care if anyone sees me?” I yell.
“Calm down,” he mutters.
“Don’t tell me how to act,” I scream.
He takes me by the arms. “I’m not,” he says firmly, and I stop struggling. “You’re upset, I can see that. I’m sorry if I was too harsh back there. But please don’t drive out of here upset and half dressed. If something happened, I’d never forgive myself.”
I scoff. “Like you give a shit what happens to me.”
“Of course, I do,” he mutters patiently.
“Is that why you turn up to bars to rescue me, Atlas?” My tone is condescending. “You just love being the hero?”
He steps closer, pushing me against the car. “You drive me fucking insane,” he mutters, “and every time I tell myself to stop, you pull some shit and I’m back at your feet like a goddamn puppy dog.”
His hand gropes my breast, and he presses his erection against my stomach. “You’re like a drug,” he whispers, his lips finding mine. I reach between us, unfastening his jeans and shoving them over his backside. I wrap my leg around his waist, and he lifts me against the car, pressing himself at my entrance. “One day, you’ll trust me enough to know I’d never fuck a club whore or anyone else. I’m yours,” he pants, sinking into me. “Sasha was asking if I wanted breakfast.”
