by JB Heller
Relief washes over his features, as if he was expecting me to put the brakes on. Then he smiles so devilish and determined it makes my toes curl in anticipation. “Can I open your jeans?” he asks, tracing his knuckles over the button and zipper of my pants.
I nod, then my teeth sink into my bottom lip as he does just that.
His nimble fingers make quick work of lowering my fly, then his hands move to my hips. “Lift for me,” he instructs, and I obey immediately. He tugs my pants and panties down my legs then settles between my thighs. His gaze holds mine as he dips his head to run the tip of his tongue between my folds.
“Holy shitballs,” I squeak as exquisite pleasure sweeps through me. He does it again and again, lapping at my core.
I can’t stay still. My body jolts and quivers as tension builds inside me. Then, he sucks my clit into his warm mouth and slips a finger inside me, making my back lift off the couch and my hands dig into his thick, dark hair. I come hard and fast.
I’m panting for air when Atticus finally sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smirk on his gorgeous face. My eyes drift down his body to the outline of his hard dick pressed against his pants, and I swallow; that thing is a monster. It’s never going to fit inside of me.
“Eyes up here,” he says, his tone sharp and demanding. My gaze darts to his, and he raises a brow. “Don’t worry, my secret seductress. I’ll warm you up good and proper before we even think about having sex, okay?”
I sag with relief at his promise. “Okay,” I murmur, smiling up at him. “Do you want me to do something about that for you?” I ask, pointing at his straining erection.
Heat swirls in his eyes, and it gives me the boost of confidence I seriously need. I tug my pants back up, but don’t bother refastening them, and focus on popping the button then lowering the fly of Atticus’s jeans.
His cock springs free, not confined by underwear beneath his pants, and I reach out a shaking hand to wrap my fingers around his girth. His body goes rigid at my tentative touch, and my eyes go to his. I have no idea what I’m doing here. Sure, I’ve watched enough porn to understand the mechanics, but this is the first time I’ve ever touched a penis properly.
At my hesitation, he trails the back of his knuckles over my cheek and says, “You don’t have to do this, Kinsley. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for, my sweet girl.”
I shake my head. I’m so very ready for this. “I want to,” I tell him. “I’m just not sure how to make it good for you.”
His jaw tenses at my admission, then he closes his eyes. “Then let me show you,” he rumbles, wrapping his hand over mine in a firm grip. He begins stroking up and down his long, thick shaft.
My thighs clench together at the erotic sight of his much larger hand directing mine, showing me how to bring him pleasure. My own need ignites again. I never imagined deriving so much pleasure from giving it.
Feeling bold, I shimmy closer, drop my head, and lick the crown of his cock. He stills our hands at his base then squeezes as I do it again, keeping my eyes on his.
“Fuck, sweet girl, the way you’re looking at me right now … just … fuck,” he groans, and his hips thrust up, encouraging me to keep going.
I lower my head farther, this time wrapping my lips around the tip and sucking gently. Atticus’s eyes blaze then roll back inside his head as he moves our joined hands in a sensuous glide up and down his length while I continue to suck.
“That hot little mouth of yours feels so goddamn good. Too good,” he says between clenched teeth. “If you don’t want to swallow, you need to stop right now, ’cause I’m close, sweet girl. So fucking close.”
I’ve never felt more powerful in all my life. I double my efforts, sucking harder until Atticus tips his head back and groans in pleasure as he spills inside my mouth.
He collapses, dragging me with him so I’m lying on his firm chest, and he strokes a hand through my messy hair. “Fuckin’ A, Kinsley. That was incredible.”
My smile is so damn wide it hurts my cheeks.
It takes us a good twenty minutes to be bothered pulling ourselves back together, then we return to the kitchen.
“Another wine?” Atticus asks, gesturing to my empty glass.
“Please and thank you,” I reply, still smiling like a madwoman. I am so unbelievably happy right now, and it’s all because of this tall, dark, and brooding man before me.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of good conversation, scrumptious food, and delicious wine.
I’m sated in every way possible when I finally return home late that night, where I drop onto my bed and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Emory, Lennon, and I are in our favorite comfy sweats and hoodies, watching Lucifer, when there’s a knock at the front door.
“You expecting anyone?” I ask the girls.
Both shake their heads, then Lennon gets up to answer it. She swings the door open then turns back to look at me. “It’s for you,” she says, a very unlike-Lennon smile on her face.
I quirk a brow at her weird expression. Then, she steps back, allowing whoever is on the other side to enter. Warmth radiates through my entire body as Atticus strides in, a panty-melting grin on his face and a beautiful bunch of flowers in his hand. I jump off my seat and rush to him.
His grin widens, and he opens his arms to me, wrapping them around my waist as I crash into him. He nuzzles his face into the curve of my neck. “Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs.
Tipping my head back to look up into his face, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Another day, another apology, another bouquet of flowers,” he says, shrugging.
I chuckle. “What do you need to apologize for?”
He quirks a brow. “The unfortunate appearance of my son last night.”
“Oh, that.” I flush. “Yeah, that was … awkward.”
“What was awkward?” Emory asks from behind me.
I shift, tucking myself into Atticus’s side, and face the girls. My cheeks are on fire. “I met Atticus’s son, Arlo, last night.”
Lennon’s eyes bug out of her head. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to be there?”
Atticus clears his throat, glances down at me, then back to the girls. “I think this story is best told with alcohol.”
“Already sorted,” Lennon says, lifting the half-empty bottle of wine from the floor beside the armchair she’s lounging in.
“Okay, where are the glasses? I’m going to need some of that,” he says, grimacing.
“Go sit down. I’ll get you one,” I tell him, giving him a light shove in the direction of the couch. I fetch a glass and another bottle of wine from the fridge then wander into the lounge area. Dropping down beside him, I snuggle into his side.
After last night, all the nervous energy that would normally assault me the second I was confronted with someone as attractive as Atticus is gone. I don’t know how it happened, but I feel free to be myself with him, and it’s liberating.
“This is super weird,” Lennon points out, her finger wiggling between Atticus and me cuddled up together.
I grin. I can’t help it. Because I totally get where she’s coming from. I have never been so comfortable with a guy before, and these girls have known me since we were in high school. Atticus’s arm tightens around my shoulders; I tip my head back, glancing at him, and he looks down at me, returning my smile.
“It’s not weird. It’s beautiful,” Emory defends.
I snort at the most romantic woman in the world. “It is weird, Em. Admit it.”
She rolls her eyes, nudges her glasses up her nose, and sighs. “Okay, it’s a little weird, but it’s beautiful too. You’re practically glowing with happiness, Kins. Now I wanna get me some of that.”
Atticus’s brows jump to his hairline. “Ah, thanks, but I’m a one-woman kinda guy.”
Emory bursts out laughing. “Oh, God, that’s not what I meant. What I was trying to say is I want to find a man
who makes me as happy as you make Kins. You’re hot and all, and yeah, I’m not gonna lie, you were a favorite in my flick files, but any interest I had vanished the moment you and my girl started talking.”
“Your what files?” Atticus asks, a perplexed expression on his face.
“Her flick files,” Lennon says matter-of-factly.
He frowns. “What is that?”
I shoot the girls a scalding glare then pat Atticus’s arm. “I’ll tell you later.”
Em and Len chuckle but let it go, and Atticus and I tell them about our Arlo encounter.
Thank the Lord for small mercies.
The following week passes with more coffee dates, lots of heated looks when we have to share the elevator with other people, and toe-curling kisses when we don’t.
It’s Friday night, and we’re doing dinner at Atticus’s place again. I sit at the kitchen counter and watch as he comfortably moves around his kitchen, preparing something that smells incredible.
When his back is to me, I can’t keep my eyes off his phenomenal ass. His chuckle has my gaze darting up to find him grinning at me over his shoulder. “What?” I say, pretending like he didn’t just catch me checking him out.
He shakes his head and goes back to stirring something in a pot on the stove.
“What are you making?” I ask. “It smells great.”
“Chicken pesto gnocchi,” he says. “I used to cook all the time when Arlo was little, but then I got too busy with the firm, and something had to give. Our housekeeper, Petra, does most of the cooking for us these days.”
“You know I could cook for you; you don’t have to do it if you don’t like it,” I offer.
Placing the stirring spoon aside, he adjusts the heat on the burner then faces me, leaning against the counter beside the stove. “I actually like it, and I’d do it more if I had the time. But it’s after six by the time I get home most nights, and it’s handy having something already prepared for Arlo and me.” He shrugs and smiles at me. “I like being able to do this for you.”
“I like it too,” I admit.
I set out the cutlery and bowls on the table as Atticus puts the finishing touches on the meal. When he’s done, he places a white serving dish and ladle on the table then pours us both a glass of white wine.
We eat in companionable silence for a while until he asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
My shoulders curl in on themselves at the reminder of brunch with my mother and sister.
Kinsley visibly wilts before me at my question, and I wish I could take it back. But what is she doing that has her looking so defeated?
Placing my cutlery down, I take her hand in mine. “Hey, what is it?”
The smile that graced her face moments ago is long gone. She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I have brunch at Zenith with my mother and sister tomorrow.”
I frown. “And that’s a bad thing?”
She presses her lips together in a slight grimace. “Yes and no. I don’t particularly get along with my sister, and my mother is … very critical. I’d rather not go, but they’re my family, you know?”
“Critical of what?” I ask, because for the life of me, I can’t think of what her mother could have a problem with when it comes to Kinsley.
“Of me,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not as beautiful as my sister; I don’t dress right; I eat too much; I—”
“Your mother is a bitch.” Her jaw gapes at my statement, and I push on. “A parent’s job is to build their children up, not tear them down.”
She slams her mouth closed and stares at me, her eyes glassing over as she does. Then she sniffles as a single tear rolls down her cheek.
My chair scrapes against the floor as I shove it back and move toward her. Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I press my lips behind her ear. “You’re incredible, and if your mother—or anyone else, for that matter—can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”
A heart-clenching sob rips from her chest as she clutches my forearms. Listening to her cry kills me, and knowing it’s her own family that makes her feel that way burns in my gut. My brows draw together as I try to comfort her with my touch, knowing whatever I do won’t be enough to heal the hurt her mother has inflicted.
“Come on. Let’s go sit on the couch,” I say, tugging her up and leading her into the living room.
I position her across my lap and hold her until her tears subside.
“I’m sor—” she starts.
“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t you dare apologize right now. I couldn’t take it.”
Her throat convulses, and she nods. “Thank you,” she whispers.
My head bobs in acknowledgment, and I stroke her long hair out of her eyes. “Don’t go tomorrow,” I say.
She balks at my suggestion. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t. You’re a grown woman; you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I press.
Sighing, she shakes her head then snuggles closer to my chest. “I’ll be fine. It’s only once a month that I have to see them. They’re my family.”
I grit my teeth to stop myself from telling her that her family can go to hell if this is how they make her feel. She doesn’t need to hear that right now. I’ve said my piece, and now I need to leave it alone. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.
And as that thought filters through my mind, I recall where she said they’re having brunch. Zenith. Tom and Sam own that building, and I think we’re due for another catch-up.
“Why are we brunching again?” Arlo asks as we ride the elevator down to the basement where the car I rarely get to drive is safely parked.
I run my hand through my hair and look at him from the corner of my eye. “Because we should make more of an effort to spend time with our family.”
He snorts. “Ah, really? Since when? We don’t like your family, remember?”
“Tom and Sam aren’t like the rest—you know that. You used to love hanging out with Tom when you were little,” I tell him.
“Yeah, okay, that might be true, but brunch? What’s wrong with the other three meals a day that are legitimate things?” he asks while slipping into the passenger seat.
I shrug because I agree with my son’s observation. In my opinion, brunch isn’t even a real thing. “It was Tom’s idea. You know he’s a little left of center.”
We pull up to the valet parking outside Zenith a little before ten then stroll into the restaurant to meet my cousins who are already seated.
The guys stand, and we do a round of handshakes and man-hugs.
“Dude, you’ve grown like a foot since I last saw you,” Tom says, slapping Arlo on the back.
My son shrugs it off, even though he did just have a massive growth spurt, and I know he was ridiculously happy about it just a few months ago.
After we place our orders, Tom and Arlo chat animatedly about the newest Marvel movie as Sam nudges my shoulder and asks, “So, where’s your girl?”
From this table, we have a clear view of the rest of the patrons seated in the dining area, and I scan each table until I spot her dark-purple hair pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun. My shoulders instantly tense at her posture. Her spine is curled and her head is down as the woman across from her gesticulates toward her.
“There,” I say in a terse whisper, nodding in her direction.
Sam follows my direction then he sneers. “That woman is a world-class elitist bitch.”
Don’t I know it, and I haven’t even met her yet. I keep my eyes on them even as the waiter places our food and beverages on the table then excuses himself.
Kinsley has really come into herself since we started spending time together. Day by day, she grows more sure of herself, and my chest swells with pride when she does something I know she wouldn’t have done prior to us getting together—like initiating touch between us.
But watching her now, it’s clear to me why she had such little confidence bef
ore. Those two women sitting on either side of her are the cause.
“You don’t even try to make yourself attractive. Honestly, Kinsley, would it hurt to wear something that reveals a little more flesh? You look like a dumpster woman in those sweaters you insist on wearing,” I overhear her mother say, and anger flashes through me. I’ll be damned if I sit here and let them continue tearing her down.
Pushing to my feet, I stride over to their table and stand behind Kinsley, placing my hands on her slumped shoulders. “Baby, it’s time to go,” I tell her.
Her body whips around, and, tipping her head back, she stares up at me in shock. “What are you doing here?”
“Arlo and I are having brunch with my cousins.” I wave my hand in the direction I came from without taking my eyes off her. “You don’t need to keep doing this,” I say so only she can hear me. “They don’t deserve you.”
She blinks rapidly as her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“Kinsley, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” her sister purrs, eyeing me up and down like I’m a damn piece of meat.
I don’t hold back any of the disdain I feel for her when I respond on Kinsley’s behalf. “Atticus Blaine. I’m your sister’s boyfriend, but as far as you’re concerned, I’m your worst nightmare.”
She doesn’t even balk at the clear threat in my tone. She flutters her fake lashes at me and grins. “Nightmare,” she croons, “is not the word I would use for you.”
“Let me stop you right there. I just told you I’m your sister’s boyfriend, and you’re seriously making a pass at me?” I snarl then turn to their mother. “And you. You’re just going to sit there and say nothing about it? What is wrong with you people?”
Kinsley stands, stepping into my side as she whispers, “Just leave it, Atticus.”
My chest rises and falls as anger burns in my veins. My nostrils flare, and I wrap my arm around Kinsley, glaring at the two vipers gaping at me. “You two clearly don’t appreciate what an incredible person Kinsley is. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you can’t hurt her anymore.”