Heartbreak Me by T.L. Smith Page 0,39

me, and I am thankful for small mercies. “I will give you a job,” he says. “If that’s what you want?”

“No,” I reply, not even looking in his direction.

My legs cross over one another as I stare out into nothing. The sky is dark, darker than it should be. It’s as if a storm is brewing. When we arrive at my house, I get out before he can help me and don’t look back as I make my way up the stairs and step inside. But as I go to shut the door, he’s behind me, his hands on my waist, and I have to remember to breathe.

“Atlas.” His name leaves my lips as I turn to face him, and when I do, his jacket is no longer on his body, and he’s standing there in a white singlet and his dark jeans.

“Theadora...” My name slips between his lips, almost in a whisper.

“We don’t like each other,” I murmur, stepping closer to him.

Atlas’s hand moves up under my breast, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. He pushes the door behind him shut with his foot and brings his free hand to touch my face. “We don’t.”

“You should leave,” I tell him, but his hands remain on my body. His thumb rubs along my bottom lip.

“I should,” he replies.

“But you aren’t going to, are you?”

“No. And you really don’t want me to either. You need me to help you forget.”

“Forget.” I say the word as if it’s a drug.

Maybe it’s him that’s the drug, and I could possibly be high right now. Because I don’t like him. How can I like a man like him?

“Yes, I’m going to help you forget.” Then he does what I never expected him to do, he reaches down and cups my ass, picking me up and walking with me to my bedroom while my legs wrap around his waist. The door is open, so he steps inside and lays me gently on the bed, and my legs ease away from around him. Atlas reaches for my heels and slips them off, then skates his hands up my thighs until he reaches my panties, slipping them down my legs until they’re off.

My eyes follow each of his movements, and even though the light in the room is poor, the light from my living room makes it so I can still see him. Atlas pulls his singlet off, and his chest is all I can see. My eyes drink him in, and I wonder how on earth a man like him is in my bedroom.

Men with ink have never interested me.

I have quite possibly stereotyped them.

Men who are assholes have never interested me.

I, for sure, have categorized them as bad.

Yet, here I am, in my bedroom, heart pumping hard and wondering when his hands will skim me next. When will his lips make me quiver, now that my breathing is hot and hard?

No man has ever done that to me before.

Not until him.

I have never been this nervous in my life, but for some reason, Atlas makes me nervous in every conceivable way possible.

“Stop it!” His hands go to his jeans, and he undoes his zipper as he speaks. “You are thinking way too much.” His jeans drop, and now he’s naked in front of me.

“No, right now, I am not thinking enough,” I say, sitting up and pulling my dress down so I am just as naked as he is. “Maybe after, I will,” I tell him, standing, and letting the material cascade all the way to the floor.

“Yes, maybe then we can both think more clearly.” He steps forward, his hands touching my naked body.

“Yes, maybe then,” I whisper, reaching up so my mouth touches his.

Atlas’s hands are gentle, and when we fall backward, his body weight is not fully on mine, but enough so I can feel every inch of him on top of me, even the part I want inside me.

My hips start to move as he grips me. At first, it’s soft until he moves them to my neck, then he applies pressure as he lifts and nudges my legs open even farther, one hand on my neck, the other now between my legs. He rubs my clit, and then slides his finger down until he dips inside me, taking my wetness and spreading it over my folds before he does the same again.

“I could play, but right now, I’m an impatient man.”

I can’t nod nor can I speak.

His hand is