Lovely in Red, page 10
Before I touched him, I told him tonight I would only use my hands and mouth. I’m a man of my word. At least where he is concerned.
“Atticus.” He presses his forehead against my cheek. I skim my hand up his spine. “Please don’t treat me like I’m spun glass just because I’ve never had sex with an actual man. Trust me to know what I want, when I want it.”
Shit. Even if I wanted to deny him, how can I if by doing so I would be saying I don’t trust him? I won’t insult him like that.
“There are condoms and lube in the bedside table,” I tell him after a moment.
He stretches out, yanking the drawer open and coming back with the bottle of lube but no condom. “I’m negative. Obviously. You?”
I nod, unable to form words for a long moment as I take hold of his hips. “I have the results of my last test, and I’m on PrEP but I haven’t had sex or played with anyone in months.” Not since I started watching him perform.
He shakes his head. “I trust you.”
He trusts me. He trusts me so much he’s going to let me fuck him bare for his first time. We’ve talked about it online, fantasized together about me fucking him with nothing between us, leaving my cum inside his body to become one with him, but I didn’t expect him to allow me to do it, not the first time I had him in my bed. How the hell does he expect me to control myself?
“Should I get myself ready? Or do you—Atticus!”
He lands on his back, the blankets and pillows fluffing around us, fumbling the lube. I catch it and shove his thighs further apart. “I’ll do it.”
Why would I deny myself the pleasure?
“You’re a menace, you know?” His laugh is bright and happy as I lean over, turning on the lamp so I can see him better. A blush stains his cheeks as I peer down at him. His nipples are hard and his slender, flushed cock is dripping pre-cum. Popping the cap on the lube, I lie on my stomach and drag my tongue across his abdomen. “Never mind. You’re amazing.” Calix moans and pushes his fingers into my hair, tugging the strands. The pain sparks a fire in my belly and I make for his moist cockhead.
“Atticus.” He thrusts towards my lips as I lick the damp slit. “Please.”
There is no need for him to beg. I take him between my lips, feeling no need to tease him now, not when I did so earlier tonight. He thrusts, sinking to the back of my throat. I explore his rim with slick fingers; his moans echo around the room as I suck hard and slowly slip a finger into his hole to the last knuckle. How am I going to last once I get my cock inside of him when he’s already feeling so good—so tight, clenching around my fingers like a vise? “I’m ready.”
He’s not, not yet. He will be by the time I’m finished with him.
I push a second finger into his body. He thrusts down on the intrusion with a cry of pleasure as I crook my finger and find the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him.
“Yes! More. Oh, God.” He chokes on his own breath as I continue abusing his prostate. “Atticus. Atticus. Right there.”
My cock is begging me to turn him over and fuck him until neither of us is capable of walking tomorrow but I take my time, ignoring my own needs, enjoying the weight of his cock in my mouth, the taste of his salty pre-cum flowing over my tongue and down my throat. We will never have this again—this first time together. I refuse to rush a moment of it, even if his broken cries of pleasure urge me to do so.
A third finger joins the first two and Calix tenses, his moan turning into a soft whimper of pain. I flick my tongue over the head of his damp cock as it starts to soften. “Just breathe. You’re okay. I’ve got you, pretty baby.”
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” He wheezes for breath but he doesn’t struggle against me. I go back to his cock, teasing the slit with my tongue. Slowly, his hole relaxes around my fingers and his cock hardens. I open him little by little, with every ounce of patience I possess, until he’s taking all of my three fingers easily, moaning as he rolls his hips.
“I’m ready,” Calix gasps. “Now, Atticus.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice—not this time. I withdraw my fingers from his body, climbing over top of him. His pupils are blown, lips swollen from abusing them with his teeth. I capture them as I grasp my cock and align myself with his hole. He wraps his legs around my hips and arches his back as I thrust into him, sinking to the hilt inch by inch. Neither of us will last. I’ve been on edge since I took him into my mouth.
He really is fucking perfect. And mine. I’m never going to let him go.
His viewers can watch, sad with the knowledge they will never have him like I do.
“You’re mine,” I rasp in his ear as I bottom out.
“Then prove it. Devour me,” he whimpers.
“Whatever you want, pretty baby.” I withdraw and rock forward, finding a pace that has him clawing at my back, moaning and begging as pleasure tightens my abdomen. My balls ache as I pound into his sweet body. The headboard knocks against the wall and he writhes under me, his thighs squeezing my hips as he palms my ass and pulls me deeper into his body. The sharp bite of his nails only serves to push me closer to the edge. “You feel perfect, Calix. Just the way I knew you would.”
He’s so fucking hot and tight, his hole gripping me like a vise, with nothing between us.
“Atticus.” He shoves a hand down and takes hold of his cock.
I sit back on my knees and grab his legs, push them apart and watch as I sink into him over and over, chasing our pleasure like a rabid animal. The way he stretches around my cock . . .
“Fuck, Calix. Look at you.”
Is there a more beautiful sight?
“I don’t think I’m going to last.” He squeezes his eyes closed as he releases his cock.
“If you come, I’ll just fuck you through your orgasm.” He should know from this afternoon once isn’t enough, not where he is concerned. I’m going to make him come on my cock until he has nothing left to give.
“Shit. Atticus.” Calix reaches for his cock again and pumps his shaft, pausing to tease his weeping slit with his fingers. He’s streaming pre-cum like a broken faucet. I adjust his body to just the right angle before plowing into him hard. He gasps, his free hand scrambling for purchase, nails breaking the skin on my forearm. I bury myself inside of him, slamming into his prostate with every thrust until he’s gasping for breath, back arched, thighs shaking. “Oh, fuck. Oh, f-fuck. I can’t—”
I drop my weight, caging him under my body and his cock between us as I capture his mouth, shoving my tongue between his lips. He plants his feet on the mattress, rolling his hips. Every sound he makes as our tongues slide together only encourages me to fuck him harder, fuck him faster, like my very life depends on it, until fire is licking up my spine. My balls are drawn tight against my body and the edge I’ve been fighting is right there.
I yank my mouth from his. My voice cracks. “Come. Now, Calix.”
His eyes widen. His mouth drops open. He chokes on his next breath as his body jerks under mine. I sink my teeth into his shoulder, the tender flesh breaking under my incisors. “Atticus! Fuck!”
The sweet copper of his blood leaks onto my tongue and I groan, shoving into him hard, staying there as my cock jerks. I fill his body as his cum spreads hot and wet between us. His chest rocks under mine as he clings to me with his free hand. The knuckles of his other bite into my abdomen. I soothe the bite on his shoulder with my tongue as aftershocks of pleasure destroy me.
I will never be the same as I was before tonight. Something inside of me has changed on a cellular level.
When the power of speech finally returns, I press a kiss behind his ear. “Okay?”
“You bit me.”
I lick the shallow wound before kissing it. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah.” He combs his fingers through my hair, pulling the strands away from my sweaty forehead. “It hurt but it was hot.”
I brush my mouth against his. “Bear down, pretty baby.” He sucks in a long breath and loosens around me. I slowly free myself from his body. “Stay here.”
I climb out of bed and head towards the bathroom. When I return, Calix is sprawled on the bed. He’s grinning, a puddle of pure satisfaction as I sit beside him and clean the cum from his stomach before pushing his legs apart. He bends his knees and I sink my fingers into him, playing in the cum I’ve left inside. He closes his eyes and moans softly. If I had a plug, he’d be wearing it tonight. Next time.
“Are you sore?”
“A little,” he admits. “But I thought I might be. You fucked me harder than I usually fuck myself. I enjoyed it though.” He grins and I remove my fingers, clean his hole with the cooling cloth before getting back into bed with him. He rolls into my arms, throwing a leg over my thighs with a happy sigh. Later, I’ll break out my medical kit and clean the wound on his shoulder before applying a bandage. The human mouth is filthy and any outside bacteria could easily lead to an infection.
“Was it everything you fantasized about?” I ask as I slide my hand down his back and over his ass. His hole is damp under my fingers as I pet it.
His eyes fall closed and he pushes into my touch. “It was better.” He presses a kiss to my chest. “You have permission to fuck me anytime you like.”
I grin. “I’d be careful with that kind of open ended permission if I were you, pretty baby. You might wake up one night and find yourself held down and impaled on my cock.”
He looks up. His eyes are bright and happy. “Promise?”
I laugh. “The things I’m going to do to you . . .”
He can’t even begin to imagine, but I have a feeling he’ll love it all.
Chapter Twelve
CALIX
Pancakes. I definitely smell pancakes.
I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room.
Yesterday afternoon, and later that night, I’d been far too consumed with Atticus, by Atticus, to pay any attention to my surroundings. The details hadn’t mattered as much as getting naked and being fucked for the first time in my life. And by a guy I generally like, too.
Now, I sit up, ignoring the twinge in my lower back, and look around. The first thing I notice is a bottle of water and a pill packet on the bedside table. I smile and reach for them both while checking out the rest of the room.
It’s tidy, like the lower level. Everything has a place. There’s no art on the walls like downstairs except for—
I stumble out of bed, taking the blanket with me. The water and pain medication are forgotten in my bid to get closer to what my eyes can’t quite believe.
Holy shit.
How did I miss this last night?
I must have been struck blind. There is no other explanation for not noticing . . .
“You should still be in bed,” Atticus says, totally unconcerned despite what I’m looking at. I glance back. He’s glowing—framed by the early morning sunshine, hair down and wild around his shoulders, a smile playing on his pink mouth, sweatpants riding low on his narrow hips—holding a tray of food. My stomach grumbles but I return my gaze to the wall.
Only, it’s not just a wall.
It’s me—dozens of pictures of me, doing various things around Seattle. I’m at the post office, grocery shopping, picking up dinner, meeting with other members of my profession—countless snapshots. My stomach swoops as if I’m on the world’s wildest rollercoaster. I can’t tear my gaze away from the collage of me.
Some of the pictures are older, from this past winter. I’m bundled up—sometimes, since I often forgot a coat—pink in the cheeks, breath frosting the air, hurrying from place to place. Others are more recent.
I touch a picture of myself asleep, in my bedroom—my bedroom. Not the room I film in, and rarely sleep in. I’m sprawled on my bed, head buried in a pillow, back bare, illuminated by the moonlight through my window with a blanket pooled around my hips. The picture is too clear and the angle is all wrong anyway. This picture was taken from above, as if . . .
I swallow around the heavy lump in my throat. “You’ve been in my house.”
He’s been in my home, feet away, while I was sleeping unaware.
Atticus’ arms are steel bands around my midsection as he hugs me from behind.
I should run away screaming, not relax into his hold.
How did he get into my home? How did I never notice him following me before? He’s been literally stalking me all around the city and I’ve been completely clueless. What kind of idiot doesn’t notice they’re being followed? Or worse, that someone has been in their house, watching them sleep, while doing only God knows what else? “How?” I choke out.
“The first time, I picked the door lock.” His mouth is hot and soft as he kisses my bare shoulder. The other has a bandage from where he played doctor last night, and not the sexy kind . . . that could be fun. Shit. No. This is crazy. I still close my eyes and soak in the warmth as he slips his hand under the blanket and strokes my stomach. I’ve clearly lost my fucking mind. What other excuse do I have for allowing him to hold me like this in front of his creepy wall of pictures? “After that it was just a matter of unlocking your door with the copy of your spare key I made.”
I don’t . . .
I can’t . . .
He has a key to my house?
I shake my head, not sure what to say.
This is crazy . . . right? Right?
Why am I not getting dressed as fast as possible and fleeing? I should be calling the cops, getting a restraining order. Any sane person would.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe I really am as insane as he clearly is, because the last thing I want to do is run away—not after last night. And this morning he made me breakfast—breakfast! Pancakes that smell fantastic. A serial killer doesn’t make you breakfast the morning after he fucks your brains out, does he? If so, why are so many of them in prison instead of happily married?
I turn in his arms and he tucks the blanket around my body, warding off the morning chill. His eyes dance with worry as he holds my hips and teases the bone with his fingers. Would he even let me leave if I wanted to? If he did let me go, he’d just follow, wouldn’t he?
“If you have a key to my house, it’s only fair I have a key to yours.”
Atticus pulls me close and plants a kiss on my mouth before turning me towards the bed. I stumble but he keeps me upright.
“Back into bed with you.” He pushes me onto the mattress and I turn, leaning against the headboard. “Eat before it gets cold.” He sets the tray in my lap. Pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs. There’s also orange juice and a cup of coffee. My stomach growls again and I reach for my fork as he combs a finger through my tangled hair. I’m not even going to worry about what I look like the morning after losing my virginity. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going? You’re not eating with me?” To be fair, there isn’t enough on the one tray for both of us and I’m not eager to share, even if he brought it to me.
Atticus laughs and tips my head back, slotting his mouth over mine. I sink into the pressure of his mouth as I close my eyes. His tongue slides against mine, then he pulls away and slips out of the room before I can protest. The fucker distracted me with a kiss. And breakfast.
I cut into the pancakes and groan around the taste, chewing and swallowing before reaching for my coffee. It’s perfect—hot and sweet but not too hot or sweet as to be undrinkable. I don’t even want to know how he knows how I prefer my coffee. Probably the same way he knows everything else about me.
Fucking stalker. I fight a smile.
At least I’ll never have to worry about him forgetting a special day or ignoring an important milestone. If he believes knowing how I take my coffee is important, how much more will he value my birthday, our anniversary and other events?
Atticus steps into the room, balancing a tray on one hand. I take it as he climbs into bed and settles beside me. He wraps his leg with one of mine. “Here.”
I look over. A key is dangling on a ring from his outstretched arm. “Seriously?”
He’s just going to hand a key to his house over? Just like that. No questions asked.
A furrow appears between his brows. “You don’t want it?”
I snatch the key, closing my fist around the cold metal. “I didn’t say that.”
I just didn’t expect him to hand it over without a fuss.
His grin is predatory before he cups the nape of my neck and pulls me in for another kiss. I hum into it before breaking away.
“How long have you been stalking me?” I stab at the eggs as I arch an eyebrow and wait for an answer.
He’s crazy. And his wall is creepy. But I’m still eating the breakfast he cooked.
Atticus sips on his coffee. “Seven months.”
Jesus. Seven months? We’ve only been talking for nine.
I frown, pausing with my fork halfway to my mouth. “Did . . . Did you move here because it’s close to my apartment?”
He shrugs and swallows his bite of sausage. “Your building was full.” My building was full. Implying if he could—“This is the closest place I could find.”
He’d have moved into my building if he’d been able.
“Atticus . . .” What can I even say to that? For fuck sake, he has to know this is crazy. How can he not be aware of the insanity of stalking me for seven months? Of moving just so he could live nearby? Normal people don’t do that. “Are you even from Seattle?”
Did he move across the country or just across the county for me?
“I lived in Laurelhurst before. Near the Children’s Hospital and University Village.”
Laurelhurst? Screw the Children’s Hospital and University Village. He lived a stone’s throw from the Space Needle, even closer than I do, in one of the most sought after neighborhoods in the city by those with enough money to afford the rent. And he moved to Columbia City for me?
Is that tantamount to a declaration of love? Shit. Maybe?
I mean, Columbia City isn’t a bad neighborhood. People move here all the time because the rent is affordable. Plus, we are a vibrant, well looked after community, rich with delicious local foods and a farmer’s market that draws people in from miles around, but we aren’t fucking Laurelhurst. People sell their souls to get a house there. Atticus just . . . gave his home away. To be near me.
