Page 18 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

She shrugs. “Someone rougher. Scarier.” Her voice softens. “Less kind.”

I take the plate from her hands and set it down on the counter beside her. “You think I’m kind, Rue?”

Her lashes lower. “I think you’re trying to be.”

I lean in just a little. “Only with you.”

She exhales shakily, and I swear, if I moved an inch, we’d be kissing. But I don’t. Not yet.

“I should, uh, get dessert,” she says, slipping to the side, brushing against me again as she heads for the fridge.

She opens the door and pulls out a large glass dish containing some kind of chocolate thing, topped with whipped cream and raspberries.

She turns. “It’s just store-bought. I didn’t have time to—”

I kiss her.

There’s no warning, no slow lean-in, no testing the waters. Just the thud of need in my chest and her scent in the air and the way her lips part in surprise, like she’s been holding her breath for me this whole damn time.

The dessert shakes slightly in her hand, cream tipping at the edge of the dish, but she doesn’t drop it.

I cup her face with one hand, the other settling on her waist as I deepen the kiss — slow but claiming. She tastes like strawberries or chocolate and something uniquely her .

Rue breathes into my mouth, her free hand curling into my shirt. I feel her fingers tighten, like she’s anchoring herself. Like she doesn’t trust her legs to hold her steady.

When I finally pull back, her lashes flutter open. Her cheeks are flushed. Her chest rises and falls like she’s just run a mile.

I glance down at the dessert between us. “You didn’t drop it.”

She looks too dazed to speak at first. Then she swallows and mutters, “I like chocolate.”

I smile. “Noted.”

She stares at me for a second longer, then turns abruptly, setting the dessert down on the table.

Her voice is a little shaky when she speaks again. “You want coffee, or . . . ?”

“Rue.”

She pauses.

I step behind her, close enough that my chest nearly brushes her back. I lower my mouth to her ear.

“I want you.”

She shivers.

Then, she slowly turns to face me, cheeks still flushed and lips swollen, and says, “I thought you might.”

Rue

I shut my eyes. My throat works on a swallow. My body says yes. God, it screams it. But there’s this old fear lodged inside my chest, tangled up with nerves and memories I wish I could forget.

I turn slowly, heart pounding like it’s about to rip from my chest.

When I look up at him, I say it before I can lose the nerve. “I’ve only done this once.”

Atlas stills. His eyes scan mine, but not in a predatory way. It’s soft. Focused. Careful.

I keep going, because I need to. “And it wasn’t . . . good. It wasn’t bad, but it just . . . it felt like something I was supposed to get over with. And I did, but I didn’t feel anything.”

His hand brushes a piece of hair from my cheek. “You felt that kiss we just shared?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Everything else will feel a million times . . . more.”

And then he kisses me again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he heard every word and is trying to rewrite the bad memories.

His fingers curl into the curve of my hip as he backs me up gently, guiding me until I feel the edge of the table behind my thighs. When he pulls away, I can barely breathe.

“I’m not gonna rush you,” he says, voice rough. “I just want to touch you. You good with that?”

I nod, fast.

But he stays right where he is.

“Rue. Tell me yes.”

I look up at him, everything in me trembling, but not with fear. With want. Need.

“Yes,” I say. “Touch me.”

He doesn’t move fast. His hand settles on my waist again, warm and steady, thumb brushing slow circles that make me shiver. He watches me like I might break – not fragile, but precious and for some reason that undoing starts in my chest.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the café,” he murmurs, his mouth near mine. “The way you looked at me with that sweet, nervous energy.”

I breathe out a shaky laugh, and he kisses me again. Slower this time. Lazier. Like we’ve got all the time in the world.

My hands find his shoulders. I feel the tension there, the restraint. He could pin me to the table, kiss me breathless, ruin me in every possible way. But he doesn’t, like he senses this is important to me.

Instead, his mouth trails from mine to my jaw, down to the soft skin below my ear, and I swear I feel it everywhere.

“You smell so sweet,” he murmurs, lips against my neck. “You always smell sweet.”

I tip my head to give him more, because his mouth on my skin makes my knees weak. “It’s just lotion.”

“No, it’s you.”

His hands move to my hips and lift me, like I weigh nothing. I gasp softly as he sets me on the edge of the table. The cold wood against the backs of my thighs sends a shiver up my spine.

Then he steps between my legs, crowding me just enough that I feel the pressure of his body, but still . . . he's holding back.

His hands skim the hem of my dress, teasing just above the knee, fingers warm on my skin.

“If you change your mind, just say the words . . . at any point.”

My voice is barely a whisper. “Okay.”

He leans in again, mouth brushing mine. “You sure about this, Rue?”

I look at him and I know he means it. He’d stop if I blinked the wrong way. I reach for his hand, guide it higher. “I’m sure.”

That’s when something shifts.

His mouth claims mine with more urgency, tongue brushing against mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs. One hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck while the other keeps hold of my thigh, fingers curling tight like he’s been holding back for too long.

I feel his body pressing into mine, hard where I’m soft, and my whole-body lights up like a switch has been flipped.

Still kissing me, he slips one hand up between my thighs, not inside, just exploring. And I realise I’m shaking.

He pulls back an inch. “Too much?”

“No,” I whisper. “I just . . . I’ve never felt like this before.”

His forehead rests against mine. “Good. I want to ruin you for every other man.”

I laugh, breathless, nervous, and wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer. “You already have.”

His mouth is back on mine in seconds, and this time, there’s nothing held back. The kiss is messy, open-mouthed, all heat and wanting, and I match it, surprising myself. Surprising him , too, judging by the low sound he makes in his throat when I tug his shirt higher.

His hands roam, rough and warm and reverent. Up my legs. Under my dress. Across my thighs. It’s like he’s memorising the shape of me.

“You’re still shaking,” he says against my lips.

“I know.”

His thumb brushes the inside of my thigh, just shy of where I need it. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

His hand stills. “Then tell me what you do want.”

“I want you to keep touching me,” I whisper, every nerve ending sparking. “But I don’t know how to ask for it right.”

“You just did,” he says, his voice a low rumble vibrating through me.

He slides my underwear down slowly, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. I lift my hips to help him, my cheeks flushing as the cool air kisses my skin. But he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t stare.

He groans.

Like seeing me is a relief. A reward.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “Fucking beautiful.”

I shiver, my legs falling wider without meaning to. He takes the cue, trailing his fingertips along my opening, feather-light at first. I inhale sharply, my head falling back.

He watches me. Every reaction. Every tiny gasp.

And when he finally slides one finger inside, my body clenches around it like it’s been waiting for him, like it knows him.

“God, Rue . . .”

He kisses me while he moves his hand in slow, steady strokes that build heat in my belly. And when his thumb finds that sweet, aching spot at the top, I jolt, clutching at his arms like I’m falling.

He doesn’t stop, adjusting until he has me squirming, gasping, panting into his mouth.

When I come, it’s not quiet. It’s full-body. Overwhelming. I cry out against his throat, and he holds me through it, murmuring, “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”

When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me like I just did something impossible.

I reach for him. “Don’t stop.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

He curses softly and kisses me hard. He steps back only long enough to shove his jeans down to his thighs, and my breath catches when I see him.

Big. Hard. And way more intimidating than I remember from my one awkward, forgettable first time.

He notices the shift in my face. “Hey,” he says gently, stepping between my legs again. “We go slow. We stop if you need.”

“Okay.”

I watch as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He retrieves a condom, something I hadn’t even thought about until now. Fuck. I can’t think straight around him.

He leans his forehead to mine as he rolls the condom over his thick length. “You trust me?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He guides himself to me with one hand and cups the back of my neck with the other, kissing me as he pushes in slow and careful. I gasp at the stretch, my body tensing.

He pauses, breathing hard. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just . . . give me a second.”

He waits, not moving. He just kisses me again and again until I melt around him, my body relaxing enough to take more.

Then he starts to move again.

And it’s nothing like last time.

This isn’t fumbling or rushed or selfish. This is Atlas groaning my name in my ear, his hands gripping my hips, our bodies moving in sync like we were always meant to fit this way.

My fingers dig into his back. His thrusts are slow and deep, hitting something inside me that makes me tremble all over again.

“Look at me,” he says, and I do—I can’t not —and he kisses me like he’s starving. “You feel so fucking good, Rue.”

I hold his face, fingers in his hair, and that pressure builds again, faster this time, sharper.

“I think . . . I think I’m . . .”

“I’ve got you.”

And I fall apart around him, again. Completely.

He follows a moment later with a curse and a shudder, burying his face in my neck as he comes, his whole body trembling against mine.

The only sound in the room is our breathing. Sharp. Rapid.

He kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.

Then he rests his forehead against mine and says softly, “If that was your second time ever, I’m terrified for what your third is gonna do to me.”

I laugh, breathless. “You planning ahead?”

He grins. “Damn right I am.”