Page 13 of Guarded by Atlas (Steel Rebels MC #6)

Marie

My palms slide down the wet shower tile, a sob tearing out of my throat as a fire licks through my body with the intensity of lightning.

I’m going to be late for work. Good God, I’m going to be so late they’ll probably fire me.

As if taking a week off wasn’t bad enough, now I’m going to miss the start of my shift because I didn’t have the will in me to push Atlas out of the bathroom when he followed me in.

It’s my fault. It’s my own darn fault for assuming what we shared in bed when we woke up would be enough for either of us.

It wasn’t.

His lips were on mine before the water turned hot.

My hands were on his body, wanting and seeking.

Gripping his erection and stroking it as a fire he’d only sated a few minutes ago grew with such intensity.

I’d then dropped to my knees, licking his massive girth before taking him in my mouth.

He was too big and I kept choking, but I managed to get him all hot and bothered before I found my face pressed against the tile.

I shouldn’t want this—him—as much as I do.

God, I’ll probably need to talk to someone about this.

Maybe a doctor or a therapist, someone who’ll advise me on how to overcome this addiction I have for Atlas.

How the heck can I go back to living a life where I don’t feel the strength of this man as he pressed against me, inhale his warm scent and lose myself in the feel of him.

I can’t live without this.

“Oh, God!” I sob when he starts pressing into me, stretching me with his massive cock. Christ, he’s so big. It’s a new experience every time I take him. An intense, delicious feeling that never fades. “I’m going to be so late for work.”

“No, you won’t,” he says into my wet hair, pushing it aside to kiss my neck. “I’ll give you a ride. Faster than the L.”

His words give me pause. “You are giving me a ride to work?” I ask, my words morphing into a moan when he starts moving in and out of me.

He grabs my hips to hold me steady, pulling back before sliding back inside of me.

I whimper as I feel my feminine lips slide against his shaft with every slow thrust.

“I’ll give you a ride and then stay a few hours just to be safe.”

His words barely penetrate my fogged-up brain. “I thought… You said… Oh, God!” I sob when he releases his grip on my hips and snakes a hand up to rub my tits. I cry out when he pinches and tugs my wet, sensitive nipple between his knuckles. “Atlas!”

“We got the men who took you; don’t worry.” He breathes into my skin as one hand leaves my tit and he grips my hip again, thrusting into my sex harder this time, my ass slapping wetly against his front. “I’m just being cautious. You’ll feel safer with me there.”

He’s right, and I should tell him as much, but my spinning head can barely grasp onto the words long enough to voice them.

My fingers slide down the fogged-up glass as I try to anchor myself in the storm he’s creating inside of me.

“Close,” I sob as he slams his manhood harder and faster into me, his fingers gripping tight as he brings me closer and closer to the peak of a high only he can give me.

Only he ever will.

“Mine,” he growls, dropping his hand down between my legs to rub on my clit, and that triggers my climax.

My back bows as a scream tears out of my throat, waves of pleasure rocking through me with every slam, every touch, and reduces me to a whimpering mess.

He slams into me twice before I feel him tense and his cock swell impossibly larger before he pours himself into me with a harsh grunt, violent shudders rocking through his system as I milk him to the last drop.

My first instinct is to slide to the floor and just lie there, but his grip keeps me upright until my legs are steady enough on their own.

I move away from him, cleaning up fast before exiting the shower in a rush.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His chuckle follows me as I run out to get dressed.

He is only in there for a couple more minutes before he walks out too, laughing when he finds me half dressed.

I allow myself a few seconds to ogle his body, slapping my cheeks to focus when I realize I’m staring.

The dangerous glint in his eyes has me grabbing the rest of my clothes to get dressed on the opposite side of the room.

“Don’t come any closer to me,” I warn him. “I have less than an hour to get to work. I love working there and don’t want to give them a reason to fire me.”

There’s a contemplative look on his face as he slides into a pair of jeans. “Why do you work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your parents are wealthy,” he says, surprising me by mentioning my parents' wealth for the first time since I came here. “You could live a comfortable life, traveling the world and doing whatever you want.”

His sentiments are not new. I’ve heard this all my life.

From my friends who weren’t as lucky to come from the wealth my parents and grandparents provided.

“I wanted to do all that when I was younger,” I tell him.

“Funny thing, my parents would have let me. They don’t care what I do as long as I’m happy and fulfilled.

But that’s exactly the problem. A life like that wouldn’t have satisfied me. ”

“And nursing does?”

“I’ve always loved taking care of people, feeling needed for more than my money. I fell in love with nursing, especially taking care of the elderly, and when you fall in love with something,”— or someone, as I have fallen hopelessly in love with you —“it’s for life.”

“Huh.”

“Isn’t it the same for you with the MC?” I ask, tugging the towel from my hair. “Isn’t that why you left a life you knew and moved to an entirely different city? Because you fell in love with riding and wanted to do so with like-minded people?”

“I didn’t leave much behind in West Odessa.”

I chuckle. “And you think I left something behind?” I muse. “Maybe you coming to work with me is a good idea, and then you’ll see that I am not really missing out on anything. I would pick my lovely senior citizens over any exotic trip. Trust me, it’s an adventure on its own.”

There’s doubt in his eyes, but I don’t bother explaining it to him, figuring it’s something he’s going to have to see for himself.

Oh, I can’t wait until he gets a load of Debbie, and I am excited when an hour later we both walk into the nursing home.

I clock in for my shift as he takes in the place, and I try to look at it from the perspective of someone who, by his own admission, has never been to a nursing home before.

The walls are painted a soft beige and the floors are shiny linoleum that reflects the dim light.

We walk down the hallway, past one of the entertainment rooms where several of the residents are sitting in armchairs, watching some kind of gameshow on a large flat-screen TV, the sound turned on low.

Each open door we walk past reveals an entirely different story, and the hallway is decorated with both art and smiling pictures of retired staff.

I lead him to the main lounge, and my eyes fall on the large grand piano my parents donated to the nursing home.

The piano was a treasured gift from my grandfather, and when he passed away in this very nursing home, they felt it only right to leave a piece of him in a place that had taken such excellent care of him in the last precious moments of life.

“Marie!”

We both turn at the voice, and I smile when I spot Debbie walking toward us. I feel a sense of guilt when I notice the tired lines around her eyes and mouth. “Debbie, you’ve not been sleeping well,” I say as I step forward, but she simply brushes off my concerns.

“If you were worried about me, why haven’t you been here? You left me to deal with an intern who doesn’t appreciate my jokes,” she says, narrowing her eyes on me before she spots something over my shoulders that grabs her attention. “And who is this?”

I flush at the smirk and the devilish look that widens her eyes as she looks from Atlas to me.

“Debbie, this is Atlas,” I say, reaching back to grasp his arm and pull the gentle giant to my side.

“Atlas, this is the resident I was telling you about. You know, the one who likes to keep the nurses on their toes. Mrs. Debbie Hawkes in the flesh. She is Chelsea’s grandmother. ”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawkes.”

“Please, call me Debbie. Hawkes was my husband, poor bastard left me at the tender age of seventy. God rest his soul,” she says with a smile, taking his hand when he offers it.

“Now, are you the one who’s been keeping my nurse away from work?

” Her head tilts to the side as she runs her eyes over his frame, humming in appreciation as she does so.

“It makes a lot more sense now why she was late to work. Marie is never late!”

I don’t have to look at a mirror to know that my face is as red as a tomato. The memories of what happened this morning are still fresh on my mind. “Debbie,” I reprimand, placing an arm on her shoulder and steering her away from the man before she scares him off. “You can’t say that to him.”

“He looks like a snack. You have a good eye, I’ll give you that,” she says as I lead her back to her room, hoping she’ll let me convince her to rest. “He reminds me of my husband.” My brows wing up at her words, which makes her laugh.

I’ve seen the pictures of her late husband; even in his prime, he looked nothing like Atlas. “Not his physical appearance.”

Debbie must’ve really missed me, or maybe she’s just distracted by the man standing by her door as she doesn’t fuss as much when I do a quick assessment on her. “What do you mean that he reminds you of your husband?”