Page 11 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats (Till Death Do Us Part #1)

Chapter Eight

Lilah

I try to keep my panic on the inside, but something about the way Atticus is talking to me tells me I’m not doing as well as I thought I was. Maybe that’s why Steven always got so mad at me. My acting is shit.

I knew I was taking forever to get ready because nothing was working the way I wanted it to.

My eyeliner was crooked and each time I tried to fix it, I only made it worse.

Then my skin got raw and red from wiping it off so many times.

My hair wouldn’t stay straight, and I couldn’t figure out why, but I finally gave up on it and started giving myself a pep talk.

I hadn’t realized it had taken me that long to get all this done, and when I heard Atticus behind me, a wave of panic seized my chest. Too many times I took too long to do something, and there were repercussions for it. Usually physical.

I’m fucked up. The trauma I’ve gone through in my life has made me who I am today, and though most times I can brush it off, when I get really frustrated, it all comes out.

Atticus and I have known each other for less than a week, and though my body feels at ease around him, and I feel like I’ve known him much longer, I need to remember that I don’t know him at all.

Some part of me needs to be on guard with him.

He is some kind of psychopath or sociopath.

They’re the only people who seem to stick around in my life, until outside factors pull them away.

My father going to jail and Steven being killed by Atticus.

Then there was my uncle, who I stayed with after my father went to jail, and the only thing that got me away from him was running away.

Atticus could be a terrible human. They’re the only people I gravitate toward and I’ve never known the difference until it’s too late. I was calm around my father, trusted my uncle and Steven, too. Who knows what Atticus could do to me, and I’d just… let him.

So panic hits me when I see him looming over me in the mirror. He’s a big guy. Bigger than any man I’ve been close to, and though I’ve put up some good fights in my life, I wouldn’t be so lucky with Atticus. The man could be my ending without breaking a sweat. Not only by his size, but his history.

He is a serial killer. I’m very aware of what he’s capable of and what he’s done.

I’m good at reading between the lines, not that he’s sat here and told me about everyone he’s killed.

Steven certainly wasn’t his first, that was obvious.

He has a clean up guy on speed dial. A ton of money.

He lives alone with no family. But even though I know all these things about him, I’m not scared of him.

Which is even more terrifying. It’s that part of me that’s broken.

The panic that takes over when I see him isn’t because of him, it’s just a reaction. My body preparing for impact. I’ve been around enough violent men to know when it’s time to brace for a beating. Now is one of those moments.

Only, it doesn’t come.

After speaking to me in a tone gentler than I thought he was capable, he picks me up and carries me out of my room. My face is buried against his chest, and so I don’t realize where he takes me until I’m put down on something soft and open my eyes.

His bedroom.

I figure that out by the way the bed smells.

Masculine and slightly musky, just like him.

There’s nothing else in here that gives away it’s his room.

There isn’t a sign across the wall that says Atticus.

There aren’t posters of dead bodies or entrails hanging from his ceiling like streamers. Blood doesn’t stain the walls.

Atticus isn’t that kind of psychopath. If he were, I’d be worried that whatever this is between us is just him grooming me.

But it’s not. I wish I could explain how I know that.

I only know there is something about him that is different from what I’m used to.

And if, in the end, I’m wrong about him like I was about everyone else, then I guess I’ll have to deal with it.

His room is spacious with minimal furniture. A large bed, shiny black dressers, and a plush throw rug on the hardwood floor. Beside the door that leads to the hallway, there are two others. Likely a bathroom and a closet, probably both huge.

After placing me on the bed, he shrugs off his jacket, undoes his tie, then slowly unbuttons each button on his shirt.

My eyes stay glued to him as he works to get himself undressed.

I hold my breath when he tugs open his shirt, only to be met with a white shirt beneath.

Once the dress shirt comes off, he unbuttons his pants, untucks the shirt, and pulls it over his head.

I shift in bed, my lower stomach getting all tingly and warm.

He’s so much hotter than I first thought.

Thick and muscled. Not in the way a body builder is, but I see how strong he is the way his body moves.

It’s almost graceful. I lick my lips, keeping my gaze on him as he gets his pants off.

Soon enough, he’s standing in nothing but his black boxer briefs, staring me down with an almost indifferent look on his face.

I’ve learned that even though Atticus enjoys asking questions about the most random things, he is a man of few words.

He doesn’t like small talk and only speaks when it’s necessary—even if it’s only necessary for him.

So, I’m not surprised he isn’t talking to me now, and I don’t ruin this moment by opening my mouth.

He’s hard to read because there aren’t many emotions that cross him, but I’m perfectly fine with letting our bodies do the talking because his has been calling to me since I saw him standing in the doorway of Steven’s house.

Atticus steps closer to the bed and leans forward, grabbing both my ankles and tugging me to the edge.

I gasp, surprised by the move and the softness of the sheets beneath me as my dress rolls upwards from the friction.

His hands trail up my thighs, pushing up my dress more, and he lets it settle well above my hips.

He grunts out a sound of approval when he sees I’m not wearing any panties.

Pushing my thighs apart, he looks down at me with curiosity and eagerness. His gaze darkens, and his jaw clenches. My head falls back as my pussy clenches, aching to be touched.

His hands stop at the tops of my thighs, inches from where I really want him to touch me, and his thumbs run along my pussy lips, but they stop just shy of where I need him. My breathing increases as I wait for him to do whatever it is he plans on doing. Which hopefully is something .

I whimper when his hands fall from my body.

They go to my waist and continue pushing up my dress.

My eyes meet Atticus’s, and still, he doesn’t say a word.

All I can get out of his look is that I better get undressed and I better do it now.

So, I sit up, allowing him to get the dress off and toss it away, while one hand stays on my side.

When the dress is gone, his thumb brushes over my nipple, and I arch into his touch.

I bite my bottom lip, watching him watch me. He isn’t meeting my gaze, just keeps his set on where his hands roam my body. It’s erotic in a way I didn’t think was possible.

I’ve had sex a lot in my life, but only a few of those times were because I wanted it.

I really want this, though. Sex is so much more fulfilling when it’s on your terms.

Slowly, his hands trail down my body and I fall back into the soft bedding again. He hooks his arms under my knees, tugging me closer to the edge.

Oh…

He’s going to— “Ah!”

I can’t hold back the cry as he swipes his tongue firmly over my clit. He growls as he dives back in, licking and sucking on me. My hips move along with his rhythm, my body never having known pleasure like this before.

There’s something about wanting this before getting it. I’m used to my body being used for someone else’s pleasure, and though I’ve come from this before, this—right now—is different. I want this on a mental level, and not just because my body is responding to sex on a basic level.

Atticus wants this for me , not for himself.

I feel it in his deliberate touches and the way he looks at me, the way he takes his time exploring my body.

He didn’t throw me on the bed and tear my clothes off to shove himself inside me without checking if I was wet or not.

No, he went slow, took me in, touched me gently.

Now, he’s driving me crazy with his tongue, not relenting or slowing, just holding me in place and enjoying me.

“Atty,” I whine, finding his hair and running my fingers through it, gripping onto the strands. “That feels so good.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t say a word, just keeps going.

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” I warn him, which is a surprise to me. I’ve never been brought to climax this quickly before. Not from someone else.

“Atticus,” I try again, my hand tugging on his hair and my hips rising to meet his tongue. Still, I get nothing, and so when the orgasm hits me, I give in to it. I moan loudly, riding his face through a mind-blowing orgasm that I feel ricocheting through me from the tips of my toes to my fingers.

When it subsides, Atticus presses a soft kiss to my clit, then licks along my thigh before sliding a finger inside me suddenly.

“Oh, my god!” I cry out as he swipes along something that feels really good.

His mouth stays on my thigh, licking and kissing as he fucks me with his finger.

I wish he’d fuck me with something else.

Without warning, he pulls out, grips my thigh and turns me over so I’m on my stomach.

But only for a second before he’s lifting my hips from the bed and then there’s something hot and warm on my ass.

“God!” I cry out again, hands digging into the mattress.

Atticus licks and sucks, spearing his tongue inside me, tasting as much as he can. He groans as he feasts on me, fingers digging into my thighs until one falls away and then I’m being fucked again.

No one has ever paid so much attention to me during sex before, and I don’t know how to take it.

It’s overwhelming and wonderful. Usually I’m being fucked by now, and I never get to come first because they stop as soon as they’re done.

But Atticus isn’t doing this for him, he isn’t getting anything out of this other than my pleasure.

His fingers slide out of me and over my clit while his tongue spears inside my pussy. I grind against his face and his fingers, wanting more. Needing more. Not getting enough. I’m going to come again. It’s a crazy realization, but here it is.

My body tenses as his fingers work me up, until the orgasm crashes over me and I detonate, my body spasming. I fall to the bed, and then I’m being rolled over and Atticus takes up the spot beside me, pulling me to him. My body is so relaxed I can’t even open my eyes.

“I thought killing was my only obsession,” he whispers, running his fingers through my hair. “But then I met you, Kitten, and seeing the way your body responds to me has me high in a way I didn’t know was possible.”

He kisses my temple and holds me so tight I don’t think he’ll ever let me go.