Page 90 of Atlas
I carry her to my bed, kicking off my boots without bothering to untie them. She groans as I lay her down, and I hush her gently, brushing damp hair from her forehead.
“You’re okay, baby. Just rest.”
I undress her carefully, unzipping her jeans, sliding them down her legs, peeling her top away from her clammy skin. I grab one of my clean T-shirts from the drawer and pull it over her head, guiding her arms through like she’s sleepwalking.
Then, I fetch a glass of water and some painkillers from the bathroom before sitting on the edge of the bed until her lashes flutter.
“Rue,” I whisper, nudging her gently. “Hey, come on. Just sip some water for me. Take these.”
She groans but lets me tilt the glass to her lips. She swallows the tablets with barely a grimace. Then she flops back down and rolls onto her side, pulling my T-shirt tight around her body like it’s armour.
“Lay with me,” she whispers.
I hesitate for a second. “You sure?”
She nods without opening her eyes. Then, she just scoots back and leaves space for me.
I climb in beside her, staying on top of the covers at first, afraid to assume too much. Her hand finds my chest, then travels down to my stomach, like she needs to know I’m really here.
“Can I ask you something?” she mumbles.
“Anything.”
“What was it like? Being with someone like her?”
My throat tightens.
She opens her eyes then, just enough to look at me. There’s no accusation in her voice, just quiet pain.
“Someone pretty. Someone powerful. Clever.” Her voice shakes. “She’s a lawyer, Atlas.”
“Don’t do that,” I say, sharper than I mean to. I turn on my side to face her. “Don’t make me listen to you cut yourself down.”
She looks away, but I gently guide her face back to mine.
“She’s not you,” I say. “She’s never been you. Rue, you’re brave in ways most people aren’t. You’ve got the kindest heart. The funniest sense of humour. You feel everything so deeply, even when it hurts. You make people feel seen. You makemefeel seen.”
She blinks, slow and heavy.
“And yeah, you’re beautiful. You always have been. But it’s not about that. Not for me. It’s the way you scrunch your nose when you’re trying not to laugh. The way you hold your breath when you’re nervous. The way you never let anyone in, but you let me in.”
Her lips part like she’s about to cry or kiss me. I don’t know which.
“I don’t want Anita,” I whisper. “I want you.”
She leans in then, and our mouths meet in a kiss that’s soft and aching and desperate. Like she’s trying to believe me, one brush of her lips at a time.
She climbs over me, straddling my waist, her hands sliding beneath my shirt like she needs to feel my skin to stay grounded.
“Rue,” I murmur against her lips, my hands settling on her thighs, trying to still her. “We shouldn’t. You’ve been drinking.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But I want to remember this. I want to feel something good.”
She kisses me again, deeper now. Bolder. Her body melts into mine, and it takes everything I have not to flip her off me and walk away, not because I don’t want her, but because I want her too much to do this wrong, knowing tomorrow she might regret it.
But she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping her afloat, and I don’t have the strength to let go.
So I let my hands roam over her body, up my shirt and over her breasts. She gasps, arching forward and pressing her core against the outline of my erection over my jeans. I grip her hips, encouraging her to keep moving, rocking against me until the friction sends her spiralling over the edge.
