Page 16 of Watcher
Atticus brushed his teeth and gargled mouthwash while avoiding the reflection in the mirror. When he finished his task, Foster stripped him. Foster was efficient. His expression gave nothing away. That was good. If there had been forced chatter and fake smiles, Atticus would have felt awkward as hell. But the way Foster appeared to treat the situation like a professional caretaker let Atticus pretend that was all Foster was. Then Foster took off his underwear, obviously intent on showering with him. The air changed.
Every step of ending up beneath the pounding shower heads, Atticus couldn’t stop studying Foster’s face. The line of his set jaw and the way his sparkling eyes pierced through Atticus had fascinated him. Captivated him. The longing in his gut wassomehow equally familiar and unfamiliar. Maybe that was the real mystery. Atticus didn’t know how or what he felt, but he felt something. He didn’t know if he liked it.
No matter how hard Foster tried to pretend taking care of Atticus’ needs was just like him taking care of anyone else, he saw that for the lie it was. At first, his gaze had stayed locked on holding Atticus’ stare so he wouldn’t get embarrassed. Not that Foster believed Atticus capable of any such crass emotion. But after a minute of standing in the shower, his inability to look anywhere else was out of his control. The way Atticus stared back at him had Foster’s heart rate rising. He didn’t recognize the emotions etched on Atticus’ face.
Atticus broke first. “You’re looking very intense.”
He imagined he did. Foster didn’t miss a beat. “You confuse me when you look at me the way you are now.”
“How am I looking you?”
Foster still didn’t break eye contact. “You tell me.”
Atticus shook his head, as if shaking off a spell. “You make me feel some sort of way. I don’t know. You’re not like anyone else.”
He kept Foster confused. Of course he wasn’t like anyone else. Neither of them were. Foster grabbed the body wash and went to work, getting them both thoroughly clean. They were both hard and ignoring it. The tension didn’t lessen. Foster imagined—like him—Atticus had the training to ignore his body’s needs. He didn’t want to, though. Only God knew how badly Foster craved this man. From his haughty ways only a private education could produce, to his cocky attitude, Foster lusted for more.
“I’d probably be the worst fuck you ever had right now.”
Foster’s gaze snapped back to holding Atticus’ stare.
Atticus didn’t look away, but he looked nervous. Foster didn’t imagine Atticus showed anyone that much vulnerability.
Foster couldn’t take it. “You’re incapable of boring anyone.”
A huge grin split Atticus’ face. “I said bad. Not boring.”
Foster shrugged. “That either, especially if I’m doing all the work.”
They went back to holding each other’s gaze. He wasn’t sure either of them breathed. With anyone else, Foster would have worried about someone’s health over any type of desire. Atticuswasn’t anyone else. Like him, Atticus had pushed life to the limits. He knew what his body could handle.
From his spot on the shower bench, Atticus reached over and turned off the water. Taking his cue, Foster grabbed a fluffy towel he had set out for them. He carefully dried Atticus’ skin, touching him as much as possible. The sound of their breathing increased, seeming louder inside the shower and between the tiled walls of the wet room. Foster tormented them both. He had a feeling this was about to be the fastest fuck in history. There was too much desire between them.
Once they were dry, Foster lifted Atticus into his arms and made his way back to the bed. “I wasn’t prepared to have you here.” That realization might have taken his knees out if his mind hadn’t immediately jumped to all the other things they could do.
“Luckily for you, I can’t get pregnant.” At the droll statement, an unexpected laugh burst from Foster. He never knew what would come out of Atticus’ mouth.
“I’ve tried many times over the years.”
Foster laughed harder as he climbed into bed and returned Atticus to his spot. The funniest part about Atticus’ quips was his expression. He looked totally serious while saying the most ridiculous shit. It hit Foster. Atticus had always done that. Foster had just refused to see him as anything other than an object he desired. The truth killed his laughter. He was the bad guy. When he had walked out on their date, he had been in the wrong. Foster had been trying to prove to himself he could walk awayfrom Atticus. That Atticus wasn’t an addiction. The truth was, Foster was hooked on him, and he didn’t think that was the bad thing he had tried to convince himself it was. Atticus had tried to connect with him. Foster had been so set on riling Atticus in his office that day that he had accidentally sent Atticus running back to the sex-only zone. He was to blame.
“I’m sorry.”
Atticus’ expression turned baffled. “Why?” His face immediately became a brick wall, hiding all his emotions. “Oh. Is this the part where you regain your good sense again and leave?”
Foster shook his head. “The opposite, actually.” He straddled Atticus’ body, keeping his weight on his knees. “I shouldn’t have left that night. Honestly, I have no idea what happened. You didn’t deserve my reaction, so I’m sorry.”
Atticus stared up at him. He licked his bottom lip in a nervous gesture. “Maybe I scare you the same way you scare me.”
They held each other’s stare. Foster wasn’t one to admit something like that, but damn. He never thought Atticus would either. “Maybe.” He was being a coward again. Foster had to get better at this. “Yeah. I guess you terrify me.”
“It’s my throat-chop skills that did it, right?”
A smile exploded across Foster’s face. Damn, he could love this guy. Nowthatwas petrifying. “Absolutely.”
He shifted and transferred part of his weight to his palms as he boxed in Atticus. “Any man with hands that deadly…”
Atticus’ fingers encircled Foster’s erection. He lightly stroked, sending goosebumps along with pops of pleasure skittering down Foster’s spine. “If you’d known I’d be here, who would you put that condom on right now?”
