Page 39 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

ATLAS

She’s fucking killing me and she’s enjoying every second as she pats the bed innocently, like I can’t see a mouthwatering outline of her tight nipples through her wet tank top.

I’m so twisted up by this woman. So much has happened between us in the last month that it feels like we’ve been playing this game for years.

And now, she’s giving me that flirty smile, inviting me to lie next to her, and my body doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.

It’s a war of wills between my head, my heart, and, well, the other head.

All of them want the same thing . . . her.

They might have differing opinions about how to go about that, but the end result is the same: us, together, in this bed, at the wedding tomorrow, and sure as hell when we get back to Timberline Peak. For the first time since we met, it feels like there’s nothing standing in the way of that.

Except me, and the fact that I’m still standing here like an idiot, looking at her instead of joining her in bed where she wants me. Victory tips her lips up in a smirk when I move, taking my place opposite her.

The bed, which looked plenty big earlier today, instantly feels undersized with her just a foot away. If she notices, she doesn’t let on, instead shrinking the space as she props her head up on her hand and rolls to her side to face me.

Her fingers play idly with the sheet draped between us. It’s a simple nervous tick and I take some comfort in the fact that neither of us seems to know what to do or where to start.

We’ve gone from kissing for show, to admitting there’s more, to life throwing the emergency brake on us. Now that we’ve stopped spinning, it’s taking us a second to find our bearings.

Those fingers stop their movement and inch closer, following the hem of the flat sheet until they brush my heated skin. I stop breathing as the fabric drags slowly down my ribs. Each agonizing second stretches and my body reacts like it’s her tongue licking my flesh, not cotton.

By the time it stops at the top of my hips, I’m hard as stone and in dire need of her hands on me—any part of me. Soft fingertips caress the same path the sheet just took, stopping to trace the lines of ink on my skin.

Heat sizzles under the gentle scrape of her nail as it outlines each petal of the Indian paintbrush before moving on to the mountain peaks that the flowers frame tracing each line.

“A reminder of what you gave up?” she asks with so much certainty and understanding it reinforces how right this is.

“I might have moved away with the intention of never coming home, but I never wanted to forget where I came from.”

Her thumb brushes over it and I think she’s going to pull back, but she keeps her palm there, resting just below my ribs.

“When we get back, I want to take you on a date.”

“That’s not exactly the revelation I expected.” She giggles.

“A real date. One where it’s not about people seeing us for something other than our past. One that’s about our future,” I clarify.

“I see. And what would we do on our real date?”

She’s being fucking coy with me, looking like everything I’ve always wanted, and it makes it hard to think. Especially when she shifts closer.

The sheet is still hiding the evidence of what she’s doing to me, but one deep breath, one more inch, one more move, and my body will sell me out.

My hand cradles her hip, a weak attempt to give me a moment to get my wits about me before this goes from zero to sixty. It’s taken us weeks to get here and this is too damn important to rush.

“Same things we always do together, but without the agenda. No more faking it, no more putting on a show. From now on, our dates are just about us.”

“If it’s about us, does that mean you’ll watch the fireworks with me and we can find a secluded spot away from our friends so we can make out under the stars?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Her tongue traces her lower lip. “What I want is to kiss you with no one watching.”

“Is that all?”

“Not even close, but it’s a good start.”

It’s a green light and I take it, wrapping my palm around to grab her ass and tug her to me. Harlowe gasps at the roughness of it.

Eleven days, two-hundred and sixty-six hours, god knows how many minutes since the last time I had her like this, and tonight we are guaranteed not to get interrupted.

Work isn’t waiting for either of us, her friends are in bed or occupied with the crackling fire, and chatter still floats through the window from the patio.

She melts against me, her leg sliding between mine and her palm roaming up my chest to the side of my neck. Her scent, her smooth skin, her heat wraps around me. It’s so encompassing, I’m not sure that we will ever truly separate—like part of her will always own part of me.

I take my time running my nose along her jaw, enjoying the steady thrum of her heart against my chest.

“Be greedy, Altas.”

She throws her words back at me from the last time and it lights a fire in my chest. “You want me to take from you, Clover?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice cracking with need. Somehow she pushes closer, closing space that wasn’t there. Her peaked nipples skim my chest.

“I’m going to start with this mouth first—take my time kissing you until I’ve made up for all the times I wanted to kiss you and didn’t. Then I’m going to take and take until you’re too tired to give me more.”

“Please,” she whimpers when I bite down on her ear before kissing a path to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re going to give it to me, aren’t you? You promised me all of you,” I remind her.

“Yes, all of it. There’s nothing you can’t have. You’ve been so good to me.”

“And that’s what you want, isn’t it? A good boy.”

“I just want you. The good, the bad, all of it.”

“I’ve waited and wanted for so long. I thought home was what was missing, but I’m starting to think it was you all along.”

“Stop waiting. Be a good boy and give me what I want.”

Fuck me. I’ve always enjoyed giving praise, but I’ve never had a praise kink or a desire to explore my submissive side. But if Harlowe told me to crawl over hot coals for her, I would.

There’s connection and trust with her from what we’ve shared on a personal level that makes the power exchange incredibly hot. And judging by the way she twists her fingers in my hair and grinds her hips against me, I think she’s thinking the same thing.

Her eyelids flutter shut as my mouth finally covers hers, connecting us everywhere.

Her leg twines tighter around me as my tongue teases the seam of her lips.

She lets me in with a moan that rocks me to my core.

My other arm slips under her, wrapping around her waist, and the hand that rests on my chest between us does the same until her nails are digging into my shoulder, locking us together as we explore.

Nothing about this kiss is slow or savory, like I’d planned.

The second she lets me in, I lose it. It’s a claiming kiss weeks in the making.

And the first of many because I’d never tire of battling her like this.

Each of us pushes the other until both of us are so worked up that neither of us knows who holds the power.

If I don’t slow us down, this is going to go from kissing to more, fast—it’s as obvious as my weeping cock between us. Once I have her, I’ll need more.

She told me to be greedy, but she has a wedding tomorrow and she’s just coming out of a long stretch of somberness.

Keeping her up all night with my dick buried deep inside her isn’t just greedy, it would be selfish. Wanting more is one thing, but taking it at the expense of her needs is something I’m unwilling to do.

I suck in a ragged breath, pressing my forehead to hers. “Fuck, darling. Slow down, there’s no rush.”

“Why are you stopping us?” There’s a frantic edge to her question.

“Not stopping. Never stopping, just pausing.”

Harlowe doesn’t break our connection as she shakes her head.

“Clover.” Warning and desperation bleed together. “You’re killing me. I want to take my time with you. Get to know what you like, memorize the noises you make, learn how it feels when you give in, and do it slowly—thoroughly.”

A noise comes from outside where people are still sitting around the fire. “Don’t make me beg.” She pouts and my resistance cracks.

As tempting as the idea of her pleading with me sounds, it’s not what I want from her tonight. “Tell me what you want.”

“Anything. I’m just not ready to stop. I need . . . more. Something to hold me over.”

“You need to come.” It’s as much a statement as it is a question.

“I need a tangible connection. One of us, both of us; I don’t care who or how, just more.”

“This is real and we have time,” I reassure, hooking her behind the knee and rolling us so she’s on top.

There’s more laughter outside and her eyes dart to the window. “Can you keep this just for us and give me a little more of you?” Her hips shift, rubbing her hot center over my hard length. A moan slips free, and she stills, tsking. “Atlas, baby, shhh . . . they’ll hear you.”

I bring my fist to my mouth, biting down my knuckle. I’d chew off my finger if it meant she’d keep moving over me, as if I could give her anything less than she’s asking for. The idea that I’d hold out is laughable.

“That’s it,” she coos and I practically explode from the praise and the sight of her.

“Keep going. I can be so good for you.”

Pleased with that answer, she places her hands on my chest and rocks. The fabric between us doesn’t dull the sensation enough. My fingertips dig into her hips. It’s everything I can do to hold on while she gets what she needs.

“You feel so good letting me use this perfect cock to give us what we need. And quiet for me, just like I asked,” she whispers in hushed tones, keeping with the game she’s playing. “I want you to come for me like this—show me how much this affects you, that this is real.”

I grunt my assent through sealed lips, and she takes it as a sign picking up her pace. I help her, pull her down tighter.

Blonde hair spills down her back, brushing the tops of my hands as she throws her head back. Her movements become frantic and her breaths come faster. I have to bite my lip to stop the stream of encouragement I want to lavish her with.

She whimpers and I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, bringing her mouth to mine.

We swallow down each other's noises, her whimpers and my moans, as I flex my hips, taking over while she loses herself.

The fabric between us is damp and sticky with desire from both of us. She breaks our kiss, her mouth coming to my ear. “Be a good boy and come for me.”

As a rule, I never come first. It’s just the right thing to do, but Harlowe owns me down to the pleasure that rocks through me at her command.

My mouth closes over a spot on her neck that makes her breath hitch and my cock pulses between us as I roll my hips doing everything I can to get her there with me.

Her mouth falls open and a nearly silent “Atlas” slips past her lips. Her fingers curl against my chest—it’s the most perfect sight. If I ever get another tattoo, it would be her, like this, because she’s the only thing that rivals the world’s natural wonders.

With hooded eyes, her gaze drops to the spot where we’re connected. I catch her wrist as her fingers snag the waistband of my briefs.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure that was real and not a dream.” Without warning, I flip us, putting her beneath me and lowering the waistband so she can see the evidence painting the cotton fabric and head of my cock.

“Real enough for you?”

Eyes widening, her lips part, giving me an idea. I sit on my heels, letting her look her fill.

“Or do you need a taste to know just how real this is?”

“I want anything you’ll give.”

Wrapping my fist around my softening cock, I squeeze, pumping it once and swiping three fingers through the cum and bringing it to her mouth.

I give her a beat to change her mind, to stop me, but she just opens her mouth further, tongue out. She hums around my fingers, closing her mouth and sucking them clean.

Fuck me. Harlowe Corbin is going to kill me slowly with each new side of her she shows me.

“Seems real to me,” she says, releasing them with a pop and I collapse on top of her, burying my face in her neck.

“I’m not convinced. This feels too much like a dream,” I mumble, making her chuckle.

“Is that what you dream of when you sleep? We might need to talk about your depravity.”

“Says the woman that just made me come from a praise kink I didn’t know I had.”

“That was new for me, too.” A blush creeps up her cheeks.

I wrap her up tighter, wanting her to feel secure with whatever emotions it brings out.

“And?”

“Usually I prefer to be on the receiving end, but with you, it felt comfortable. Was it?—”

I cut her off with a kiss. “It was amazing.”

She beams and I roll to the side, not wanting to leave her, but both of us are a mess. Swiping two washcloths from the bathroom, I run them under the faucet.

Offering her one when I get back, she takes it. I’m not sure what I expect, but it’s not for her to look up at me with soft eyes as she traces her fingers over the waistband of my briefs.

I nod and she pulls them down, taking her time cleaning me up before standing and placing a kiss on my chest.

“I’m just going to—” She points to the bathroom.

And I let her go because if I strip her down to help her clean up I’m going to get us both going again and her heavy eyes confirm that tonight has already been a lot.

We’ve got time, I silently remind myself.

And with Harlowe, that feels true. The nonstop chatter in my head is lazier when she’s around.

It could be the after effect of being with her, but I think it’s deeper.

Being near her puts me at ease because she sees me and she gives me what I need without hesitation.

Harlowe accepts me implicitly. After everything my brother, running from town, and the uncertainty I felt coming back, I have a person who wants me for all of me.

And that’s a feeling I’ve never known before.