“Atticus!” I push against him with a laugh, my hair a wet, unwashed mess. “Get out; I’m serious!”
“Let go of my cock, and I will.”
I look down at my hands, still holding a portion of him, then I whimper. “This is torture. I want to let go, but I really don’t.”
He rolls one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of pleasure through my breast. “Let go of my cock, Goldie girl.”
I release him and rock to my toes, finding his mouth through the heated downpour. Our kiss promises so much that I rush through washing my hair, skip conditioning and get out after all my below-the-belt bits have been thoroughly washed.
I find Atticus sitting on the edge of my bed, what looks like a hand towel wrapped around his waist, and I’m playing it fast and loose with the word “wrapped” because the round, pink head of his cock hangs between his legs, and I can see his balls, too. Then again, he’s so goddamn big everywhere; I’m not surprised a towel couldn’t keep him stashed away.
He’s thumbing through his phone, but when my towel hits the floor with a wet thud, he literally tosses his phone onto the chair across the room and opens his towel to me.
“Come over here,” he commands, and I do. Closing the distance, I notice the curtains are spread open, like the first time we were in this room together weeks ago. The lights are off, and the bed is pulled back from the window just slightly. Maybe a few feet actually, the more I think about it.
I throw one leg over his and get comfortable straddling his lap. Wrapping my wet hair around his fist, he tugs my head back and bites into my neck, lapping at his own teeth marks after. My hands stay perched on his shoulders as he devours me, and I can’t help but moan.
I’m so turned on by him in total that I already feel like once he starts touching me, I’ll combust.
“I’m gonna fuck you in front of that window,” he says as he carves a path of eager kisses down my sternum, diverting away to suck the peaked tip of my breast into his mouth. He bites hard, then more gently, and sucks a little, too, all of it driving me absolutely wild.
“Then do it,” I pant, feeling my arousal thicken between my swollen lips.
“Do you like your tits sucked, Goldie?” he asks, his beard dragging across my soft flesh as he latches onto my other breast. He sucks me into his mouth again, alternating soft and hard bites to my tip.
I moan the word yes as he reaches down, adjusting his cock so it rests on my thigh. The feeling of that absolute monster cock weighing against me does nothing to keep my explosion at bay.
He stands effortlessly and without a noise, wrapping my legs around his waist. His erection is hot and heavy against my belly as he walks us to the window. Lowering me, he grabs the chair from the corner of the room, getting rid of his phone as he does. He takes a seat facing the window and looks up at me. His dark hair drips onto his broad shoulders, sending rivulets of water down his torqued chest, making me die a little from how much I want him.
Then it kind of hits me, like an actual slap in the face.
“You’re mine,” I whisper because I almost can't believe it.
“I am yours,” he says, and while our verbal Valentine wavers between us, he motions for me to spin and face the window. Without question, I do. He produces a condom and rolls it on, nearly incinerating me as he spits onto his cock, lubing up for me.
“Are there people down there?” he asks as he reaches up, guiding my hands to the window by my wrists. Like before, I keep my hands splayed across the glass. I peer down to Downtown Oakcreek. Because the snow has let up some, and there hasn’t been a bad storm in a few weeks, people are out and about, despite the fact it’s already nearly eight at night.
“Yes,” I breathe as he manipulates my body into position. Leaning forward with my hands on the window, Atticus has one hand on my hip as he positions his sheathed cock at my opening.
“This is the best position; you can take as much of it as you want, whatever doesn’t hurt,” he says, and even though I have no clue if he’ll even fit all the way inside of me, my dreams are ambitious.
Once the head has spread me, and we’ve taken a few seconds for me to adjust, I lean back, searching for more length as my fingers streak down the window.
With each added inch, my abdomen grows fuller and fuller, my clit tightening with pressure. I groan, I drop my head back, and I even let go of the window with one hand so I can reach down and feel his balls, full and hot. Every part of this man makes me want to wear an apron, bake pies and wait by the door at 5:30. I could easily live a life meant to service him and only him.
But this isn’t 1950, and I have a job I love. So instead of becoming a Stepford Wife, I’ll be my own version and shower him with affection and adoration at every free moment.
Atticus will never wonder whether or not I adore him. Ever.
I lower myself, and he puts a hand on the small of my back, the other still clutching my hip. He’s big and tough, but his actions aren’t abrasive or forced. He’s strong and stoic but at the same time, intentionally tender. I brace myself with both hands on the glass as he presses my back, making me rise off him a bit, slowly. He fucks me expertly in a way that keeps me fed but starved, too. God, I knew he would fuck like this, and this is just the first time. Our first position. The fact that my horizon is loaded with hot, heavy, exhibitionist, animalistic sex with Atticus has me shuddering down on his length, and my breath caught in my chest.
Then he puts pressure on my back again, making me sink back down.
“There you go,” he groans, his voice so rich and deep that the walls rattle with his sexy words. “Fuck it like that, baby.”
Confident from how he touches me, how he slowly feeds the beast to me in manageable inches makes me unravel. My thighs burn as I ride his lap, slow and steady. “Atticus,” I moan because I don’t know what else to say. All I can do is moan and cry, chant his name and sing his praises.
I’m nearly at the edge of ultimate orgasmic oblivion. My thighs start to tire, and my pussy milks him, tightening around him with each roll of my hips. My eyes flutter open, and I see an assortment of people down below, all busy with their evening entertainment. But one couple sharing a cup of something on a bench across the street–they see us. Well, me. And somehow… that thought is electrifying.