Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“You’re making me fucking jealous,” I say, “watching you take me like that.”
He snickers in that mischievous way he has. His eyes open, and he leans up on his forearms, hooking his hand around my head and drawing me close to his lips. “I’m glad you’re jealous,” he says, “because I think I’m about ready to fuck you now.”
“Oh, my wicked Atlas.”
“You want that?”
“Yes.”
We’re all lips, tongues, and teeth as I pull out of him, swapping with him so I’m on my back, my body aching for his cock.
He lubricates himself the same way I did, showing that same caution and care. Is it selfish that I’m the only one who gets to know this side of him? The care he takes, how thoughtful he is, how aware of my body as he listens to my movements to steadily guide him.
Like with him, it takes time to get him deep in me.
“Ooh,” I say once we’re there. There’s a bit of a sting to it, but I love the way he makes it sting…and feeling him like a rod against my prostate.
His tongue explores my mouth as I run my hand to the back of his neck, the other sliding down his back.
We build into a rhythm, our bodies in sync, his cock and tongue taking what’s his, sending ripples of sensation through me in intense waves.
How did we wind up here? We were kids who used to arm-wrestle, red-faced, gritted teeth, filled with a determined fury, each willing to watch our own arms snap before losing to the other. We teased and taunted, practically tortured each other, slinging insults and barbs. To those who didn’t know us, we were rivals, enemies even. Now, after another night of fun exploration, we’re practically molded together in these sheets.
My hand continues traveling down his back. After all the fucks we’ve shared, my fingers and tongue have become familiar with his body, greedily following along these routes—every line, every curve—guiding me to seemingly nowhere, but really to something deep inside myself. Something real, something forgotten.
As his cock hits that sweet spot yet again, I can feel all the pressure building in my balls, reaching the crescendo as we’re lost to tongue-filled kisses and heavy thrusts.
“Troy,” he whispers into my mouth. “I want you. I need you.”
He pulls away so I can see him, and he cups my face in his hand, those green eyes set on me. I’ve known those eyes for years. When I’ve looked at them, I’ve known their pain. Their sadness. But I’ve never known them as well as I do now, in this moment. I’m lost in his gaze, not hiding any of myself from him, and I can tell he’s not hiding any of himself from me. These are our real selves, staring, panting, all desire and passion, just wanting each other.
“I love you. I love you, Troy,” he says between heavy breaths.
“I love you too, Atlas.”
As he fucks me, he doesn’t take his eyes off mine, and I steady my gaze, reveling in his thrusts, the pressure as it mounts rapidly.
“Come inside me. I’m yours, A. All yours.”
His face twists up in that familiar way, and his cock pulses in me.
“Fuck yes, yes,” I say, hooking my legs around him, drawing him closer. He collapses against me, kissing me again, and I take my cock, stroking as his hard girth continues pushing against that tender spot in me.
My ass tightens, like it refuses to let Atlas go, and the pressure builds until I think I can’t stand it when I shoot, gasping out a moan as Atlas continues drowning me in kisses.
This isn’t the rhythm we built into—these are sloppy, messy, chaotic.
So us.
I wrap my arms around him as he slides his under mine to draw me close.
We cling to each other, falling from the high, from our confessions.
And all I can think is: I’m fucking his. All fucking his.
30
Atlas
I feel like I’m flying, have been for days. It’s ridiculous and dramatic and totally and completely embarrassing, but I can’t help it. Troy said he loves me, and I trust him. Believe him. That doesn’t mean there isn’t still a voice in my head telling me I’m not enough, that I don’t deserve him. That even if I give him everything, the way Mom did with Glen, one day he might still walk away from me.
I do my best to silence that voice, though, to bury it as deeply as I can until hopefully, it’ll disappear completely. I sure as shit don’t plan to let it dim the bright fucking light that is practically spilling from me.
God, love is the worst.
But it’s also the best.
I try to get my boyfriend—well, I assume he’s my boyfriend since we said we love each other—out of my head while I finish up my shift at the metal yard. We got three shipments today, and there’s a lot to sort. My earbuds are tucked in my ears, music helping me not to sit here obsessing about Troy all day.