Page 17 of Atlas (Satan’s Angels MC #6)

Atlas

We’re in Seattle at a mid-range motel. Ostensibly, we’re here to look at bikes. It’s a good cover story because it’s true. I want to get something that has another seat for Willa. Something old and junky that I can rebuild. Maybe she’d like to do that with me after hours. I wouldn’t be the first guy to have their old lady or even their kids running around the place in the evenings or on a Sunday afternoon. Some of the guys just grunt about the kids thing, but I don’t mind. It’s good to teach the next generation some skills that will stick with them for a lifetime.

Since we were just going to look and my Mustang is still in the shop, Willa drove. She took the truck, even though driving around Seattle with it isn’t the most pleasant experience. She’s from the city, so it didn’t seem to give her much added stress. At least the cab is spacious, and with the window rolled down all the way, the air sucking and screaming in for the hour long drive, it didn’t feel quite as claustrophobic. Willa’s been trying to help with my anxiety and has sent me the names of some doctors who I could make an appointment with. She’s not being pushy about it, and I’m honestly going to give it a try this time.

I know that if I’d told my parents about this, especially when I was younger, they would have wanted to help me just as badly, but knowing my mom, she would have smothered me with her fixing. And back then, having someone make a big fuss about it would probably be even more anxiety-inducing than the anxiety.

Willa gave me a choice. She would have stood by me in whatever I decided.

I chose this, and I had my first consultation earlier today. Talking to doctors doesn’t mean I have to do what they say. I’m an adult, not a kid, and that means that I make all the decisions for myself.

We’re sitting in our motel room at the end of the double bed. It’s hard as a rock and at the same time, has enough bounce in the old springs that it’s like a diving board. We risk getting launched off whenever we move.

I’m frozen, but the turquoise bottle of pills in my hand seems to burn my palm. The tiny letters on the white label are barely discernable except for my name in the top right corner. That looks huge.

I apply pressure to the lid and pop it open. The tiny white pills stare back up at me. So small. So frightening. I know these are supposed to reduce anxiety, but just the sight of them sends mine through the damn roof. I know that I can’t want help and then not try to get better. It’s silly to be afraid of this. There are only ten pills in there. Just enough to see if they work. I hate having to think about becoming dependent on something, but how is living the way that I’ve been living even an option anymore?

Willa slips her hand into mine. “You don’t have to take them if you don’t want to. The doctor said you could do it just when you need them.”

“I don’t want my life to be controlled by pills.”

“It won’t be. These aren’t that kind of pill. As needed, the doctor said.” She voices exactly what I’m thinking, as she so often does. “She listened. She heard you. I think this is a good place to start. If you don’t like them or they don’t help, then we can try something else. We’ll do our meditating and breathing exercises and anything else you want to try. Running. Painting. Yoga. More blow jobs. Anything.”

That last suggestion gets a smile out of me. I shake out one pill and recap the bottle. It’s crazy to think that something so small can make such huge changes if you take it. Then again, that’s coming from someone who hasn’t done anything other than the natural version of drugs. I’ve smoked a few cigarettes, some weed, and done mushrooms once. It was all terrible. I thought the weed would calm me down, but it ramped my anxiety so badly I felt like I was literally going to die. Don’t even get me started on the mushrooms. That was a high school experience, done completely by mistake. A friend put them on all on the burgers they served and didn’t tell anyone they’d mixed those kinds of mushrooms in with the regular kinds.

I need to just do this and get it over with. I set it under my tongue. It’s slightly chalky and tastes gross, but I force myself to let it dissolve.

Willa climbs into my lap and knocks me back on the bed. The old springs kick back violently. The whole bed bounces, followed by some not so gentle aftershocks. My upper back protests, the newly healing scabs itching and stretching tight. The yoga this morning hurt too, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. Other than some small twinges, it was surprising how refreshing it was.

She wraps herself around me, her way of keeping watch and keeping me safe. I shouldn’t be so damn anxious about taking a fucking anti-anxiety pill. The thought makes me laugh.

“Are you okay, do you feel strange?” Willa asks, all concern.

“I’m fine, it’s just the ridiculousness of it all. Maybe I need anti-anxiety meds to take before I take my anti-anxiety meds.”

“Do you want to try some of those breathing exercises?” she asks.

She’s crushing my chest. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close. “Yeah. That might help.” I can barely inhale with her pressing in like this and it’s wonderful .

She starts, laughs wryly, and lifts up. “There. Sorry.” She inhales steadily for a few beats and lets the air out through her nose in a measured rhythm and repeats.

We do that for a few beats. It takes me that long to realize that my heart is no longer slamming into my ribs. The blocked bullshit in my throat is missing. My breaths aren’t forced. The oxygen goes straight into my lungs. My muscles are no longer clenched. The most dramatic difference is that my stomach relaxes instead of spinning. I don’t feel high or anything. Just… serene .

I can tell that the anxiety is still there, but it’s background noise instead of driving my life.

The rush of euphoric relief that hits me is so strong that my eyes sting. It’s not so much the anxiety that scared me, but the fear of it, the loss of control to an unknown entity. I thought I was going to be fucked for life and that itself gave me so much anxiety. I can see now how it was at the point where I was getting anxiety about anxiety about anxiety.

Willa isn’t doing her deep breathing anymore. She’s staring down at me, and I can tell that she knows .

“This gives me hope.” My throat is scratchy.

She collapses against me, her body smashed into mine, wrapped so tight that I can’t tell where she starts and I begin. I adjust so that we’re palm to palm, foot to foot, chest to chest.

“Atlas?” Her breath is warm against my throat.

“Hmm?”

“I’d like to tell Lynette about us. She’s going to figure it out anyway, soon enough. It’s not like I can hide that I’m in love with you.”

My mouth opens, my lips part, but I can’t make a sound. My heart is racing, hammering so loudly that it’s all I can hear. It aches too. Violently. So badly that it makes my throat close up, but not with panic.

“I’m sorry,” Willa whispers while I’m over here melting down in my head. “Not for feeling it, but I’m sorry if that scares you or if it’s too soon. You don’t have to say it back. I’ve loved you for so long, in so many ways. Practically from the first second I saw you. It was because of you, that leaving Seattle and going through those classes was bearable. It was you who gave me hope. When we bought the building and started renovating it, I fell into that deep friendship love with you. Over the year, it turned into this passion. Not just physical, but the feeling that if you weren’t in my life, it would hurt so badly that I wouldn’t recover. I love you so much, with so many different kinds of love.” She stops, grasping my shoulders, staring down at me with the most intense expression. “You can tell me if you’re freaking out. I kind of am.”

In my head earlier, when I thought about bringing Willa to the garage, I so easily inserted her into the category of old lady. That’s a huge deal, but it slipped so effortlessly into my brain. I don’t want to call her my girlfriend. Jodie was my girlfriend. I want Willa to be more than that.

I want to tell her that I love her too, but it’s hard for me. She’s so sure of herself and it’s that certainty that makes things look easy for her when I know that they’re not. For me, those words and any commitment are so hard for me to grapple with. Mostly because if you care about someone, you want what’s best for them. Before I talked to Willa about my anxiety issues, it was hard for me to see myself as best for anyone.

Willa must pick up on my thoughts because she looks me in the eyes and says, “You don’t have to be worried about letting me get in your head. I’m already there. It doesn’t scare me. If you want to let me in other places, you don’t have to be afraid to do that either, but you don’t have to tell me now. I know that you care.”

My insides are agony, and not in the worst kind of way. It only hurts because I’m flooded with so much emotion. It’s not easy or simple. I know it’s just three words, or even a single sentence telling her how much she means to me, but it’s like staring up at a tall glass building, wondering how I’ll ever get to the top without any climbing equipment.

I’m afraid that I’ll start trying to find the right words, I’ll just mess it up and crash out. What words are enough for something like this anyway?

“I need you to hear this. You’re already the man I love. Not a perfect version. Yes, you’re sexy, but this isn’t about lust. It’s never been about lust for me. I thought you were hot the first time I saw you and had the full body reaction, but when you became my friend, I stopped burning for you and wanted to be near you because you were funny, sweet, hardworking, talented, and so smart. I’d never had that with a guy before. Just someone I could talk to. I want to thank you for that gift.”

This isn’t simple or easy for her either, but she makes it look that way. Always. Her kindness and goodness is effortless. She’s had her own struggles and in her head, I’m sure it’s not always a friendly place to be, but she works with it and owns it in ways that I just can’t yet.

I give up on the struggle of trying to find perfect words and instead guide her face to mine. I seal my lips to hers, not like a flame burning hot, ready to incinerate us, but sweetly, pouring everything I feel into the gesture so that she can hear everything I can’t translate from my heart to my brain, and my brain to my tongue.

She moans, kissing me back so eagerly that my head practically makes an indent in the bed and that thing is hard . I fall into it, losing myself in the kiss, the heat of her body, and the feel of her lips.

This past year was one of the longest of my life, but it would have been far harder and lonelier without her. I’m the first person who’d tell you that destiny doesn’t exist and usually timing is just shit for most things, but this? In this rare instance, it was bang fucking on. She does my head in. She’s become so deeply engrained as a part of me and my story, that I can’t imagine telling it without her in it.

Willa sinks her teeth into my lower lip, just enough to cause a little bite of pain. She lets go, painting my mouth with her words. “Is this okay? Are you sure?”

She’s wearing a vintage dress today. It’s short enough that it makes her legs look endless, and just tight enough on top that I haven’t been able to tear my eyes off her breasts all day.

“I’m more than sure that this has to come off.” I find the zipper in the back and start working it down. It resists because it’s old, stopping and starting, but people are right when they say I’m good with my hands.

I want to prove to Willa just how good.

Not because I wigged out last time and scared her senseless. I know I have nothing to prove in that sense. I want to worship her body and bring her to life because giving her pleasure makes me feel so good. I want to learn every bit of her body. We’re still new and I’m excited to discover and map every bit of her skin. I want to learn what she likes. It’s no small thing for another person to trust someone lese with their body and I’m honored that she’s so willing to put her faith in me.

The zipper finally enters her lower back area. Just a little more and I can slip the top of it off her shoulders and down around her waist so she can shimmy out of it, hopefully without getting off of me.

I quite like her right where she is.

“I learned something new today,” I say, getting that damned zipper all the way undone and sliding the top off her shoulders like I envisioned.

She helps me, revealing a red lace bra so sexy that I nearly see stars. Her heavy breasts spill over the top, begging to be freed, and for my palms to cup them, for my mouth to tease them.

“What’s that?” she groans, rocking herself on my hard dick so that the same sound spills out of me.

“That seeing you in tight yoga pants that your ass is practically eating up makes the poses that we were supposed to be doing a whole different level of indecent and painful.”

“Oh my god!” She slaps a hand over her mouth to trap her laughter. “I can imagine that would have been hellish.”

“If you’re ever thinking of buying sexy lingerie for me, don’t bother. Just wear those pants. Or nothing. Nothing is always a great option.”

She shifts off me and stands, easing the dress down her hips. She unzips her platform boots. The dress is a rusty orange. Her boots are black. She was wearing what I thought were red tights underneath, but now I see that they’re these fucking hot stockings where they go around her waist, but are open to her panties and part of her upper thighs. They’re like a garter and thigh highs all in one.

It’s official.

She’s going to slay me.

Especially when she turns around and bends over to set her dress and boots on the chair in the corner where her purse and our backpacks are and I get a full view of little crystal hearts along the back of her panties before they turn into a string that disappears between her round ass cheeks.

Fuck, I want my hands on her ass. I want my mouth on her pussy, my tongue buried deep in her, my cock stretching her until she comes all over it. I want to take her from behind and move those panties aside to get inside of her so I can see those little crystal hearts dancing while I’m buried to the hilt inside of her.

She opens her purse on the table and passes me a little silver packet.

I’m confused. She knows that we don’t need that. She would never mock me, so I pick it up and read it. It’s not a condom, it’s lube.

“I thought I’d bring that just in case. Not for today specifically, but just in case ever. Just in case we went on a hot date, and you wanted to experiment. It’s a real mood killer not being able to do something you want to do when you’re dying of horniness wanting to do it.”

“You mean like…”

“I want you to own all of me, Atlas. I want to take you everywhere . If you want to do that. There’s no pressure. Just… if the mood strikes.”

“My god.” Laughter is top tier wrong right now, but maybe not. Not when she’s bending over that table again for no reason other than to give me a show of that hot red lingerie set and all her delicious curves. “You never cease to amaze me, Willa.”

She twists over her shoulder and winks at me. “I hope that’s in a good way.”

“In a very good way.”

She wriggles her hips, dipping one knee in and then the other like she’s warming up for a race. “What was the pose that made you hardest today during yoga? Was it this one?” Hinging at the waist, she leans over and grabs her ankles.

Fuck .

I jackknife off the bed so fast that I just about give myself whiplash. Do I care? Not at all. I snap my shirt off and toss it into the chair with Willa’s clothes. My boots go next, one on each step, and by the next one, my belt is undone.

She straightens and whips around, stopping my frantic undressing. “Save some for me!” Her hands on my jeans, working them open and sliding down the zipper, send all the blood flow in my body straight to my dick. It’s not a surprise that when she strips my jeans and boxers away, it stands straight up, leaking precum against my abs.

She drinks me in, her gaze finally resting on my arms. “I know that you’re pretty meh about tattoos, but the ones you have are so well done. They suit you. Everyone should have two sleeves. I was thinking about starting one of my own.”

“Whatever you want, whenever you want it, it would only enhance how beautiful you are.”

“Whoa. You’re the only guy in the world who would ever not tell a woman what to do with their body.”

“There are plenty of guys in the world who wouldn’t. I have to believe there’s hope for men yet.”

“I still have the best one in the world. Do you realize what a crazy sequence of events that was to lead us here? If it hadn’t been for your club’s ex lawyer and me meeting Bullet in the nightclub that night…”

That’s just her side of the equation.

Her eyes darken and she runs her hand down her body, starting at her breasts, trailing over her stomach, and dipping under her panties. “I’m really, really glad that we’re here now. You naked is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s impossible, because I know that you own a mirror.”

“Corny.” Her eyes flutter shut as she touches herself beneath the silky fabric. My dick gives her a standing ovation in the form of still standing straight to attention. “But I like it.” She removes her hand, fingers glistening, and paints my bottom lip. I don’t give her a chance to pull away. I grasp her wrist lightly and suck her juices off them, the sweet tang of her exploding on my tongue.

Fuck, I need to touch her.

I need to be inside of her.