Page 103 of Killer Confections

Loxley

Okay, maybe free use and I have a love-hate relationship.

Or maybe Atlas just can’t keep his fucking hands to himself long enough for me to do something productive.

The sex is amazing, but as noon rolls around, I haven’t had a full conversation with Janette about interviewers and Idesperatelyneed to. The most we’ve been able to accomplish is a few quick texts between my mind-numbing orgasms.

Which is why I find myself hidden away in the library, sitting between a massive beanbag chair and the reading nook as I dial her number.

Am I hiding from my husband?

Yes.

Will I admit defeat and ask him to end the scene with my throbbing, achy, and overused pussy and sore muscles?

No. Because mama didn’t raise a damn quitter.

I’m winning this one way or another. But first…

“Come on, come on,” I chant quietly as the phone rings.

“Hello?” Janette’s raspy tone breaks through the speaker and I sigh with relief before getting straight to the point.

“Hi, yes, I’m fine. How are the interviews going?” I rush.

She chuckles and I hear some pans clanging in the distance. “Everything is going great. Do you want me to send over the file for the two I’m thinking of choosing?”

I swear I hear footsteps nearing the library, but as I squirm back further into my corner, I don’t spot Atlas in the hallway. In fact, it’s impossible to hear him. For a big man, he’squiet as death when he stalks around. He’s caught me off guard so many times that my heart races and I scream like a main lead in a slasher film.

Then he soothes my terror by rearranging my insides and making me forget why I was scared to begin with.

“Yes, please,” I whisper as a creak comes from the house. My head whips around to the door and my breathing quickens before I slap a hand over my mouth.

“Sending them over now,” Janette chirps. “How’s the vacay with your boyfriend? Please tell me you’re drinking margaritas on a beach somewhere.”

I smile against my hand before my ankle is snatched and I’m dragged from my hiding spot. I muffle my scream as Atlas covers me, wedging himself between my legs. He lifts a finger to his lips, shushing me with a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Loxley?” Janette asks, sounding concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine!” I squeak. “Just tripped…”

In the dim lights of the library, Atlas looks like a predator. The shadows covering his face make him seem like some daunting, unknown presence. The way his eyes darken hungrily as his hands find the hem of my sundress is hypnotizing. He runs his palms up the outside of my thighs, taking the skirt with him until he unveils my bare pussy. I’m pink and swollen, his cum still dripping from me. Our last fuck wasn’t even an hour ago, and he’s already hard. I can see the obscene outline of his cock through his pants, the veins prominent and begging for release.

How the fuck does he have anything left in him? Is this even fucking normal?!

Atlas tucks his hands under my knees before pushing my legs until they almost touch my shoulders and I have to cover my gasp at the overly open position.

His look grows desperate as he spits directly into my folds. I jump as his saliva hits me with force before slowly dripping down to my ass. He watches it intently, bracketing mylegs with an arm before collecting his spit with a finger and pumping it into my ass.

I bite my lip to keep my noises contained as Janette laughs on the other end of the phone.

“You’re the clumsiest person I know, Lox,” she muses. “How’s Addie’s road trip going? Did she make it in last night? I’m excited to have her around the bakery.”

Oh, god, she’s expecting me to answer her. I have to make words.

Another finger spears me before Atlas scissors his digits and starts stretching me out again. Every time we fuck, he does this. He’s been preparing me since this morning and I would be a damned liar if I said I didn’t like it…

It’s a strange feeling, but it gets me ridiculously wet. I don’t know the science behind it. Maybe it’s just the knowledge that he’ll have fucked every hole in my body that turns me on so much. Maybe it’s the implication of possession behind it that turns me into a mess. Regardless, I have to bite down on my hand to keep from moaning.