Page 21 of Watcher
Zeus shook his head. “Well, there you go. If you want to be with him, an open line of communication is a must. It’s Atticus. When have you ever seen him spare anyone’s feelings? He is amedically diagnosed narcissist. If he wanted you to tie him up and beat him, he would tell you to get to work and please him.”
Foster laughed. “That’s true.”
Zeus’ brow furrowed as if a thought hit. “Then again, Atticus is completely aware he’s a narcissist. It’s something he hates about himself and actively works to fix every day. It’s possible he hasn’t said anything because that’d be ame, me, meconversation. I still think you should talk to him, though. Nothing will get resolved otherwise.”
Foster nodded along even as he died a little inside. Zeus was right. Atticus worked hard to be better. He had lost too many people due to his bullshit. Atticus fully recognized he was the problem. Foster was so fucking proud of him for that. There was no shame in the med and therapy game. Foster’s phone buzzed, pulling Foster from his thoughts. He checked the device.
Atticus:Did I lose you? I’ve looked in all the obvious places.
Foster:I’m hanging out with Zeus while Tracker works to shore up some security issues before they leave. Meet me in our bedroom?
Atticus:Already there.
Foster:On my way.
With his final message sent, Foster stood. “It looks like Atticus just got back.” He stuffed his phone into his back pocket. “Be careful going home.”
Zeus hugged him. “Be careful staying behind.”
They both laughed as he pulled away. With a final nod, Foster headed for the bedroom he shared with Atticus. As Foster stepped through the door, his gaze shot straight to the balcony. Enjoying the peace of outdoors had become their daily thing. Their usual spot was empty. The door closed, and Atticus molded against his back. Foster’s eyes fell shut. His entire being focused on the man holding him. Yeah, his whole heart was in this thing.
Atticus kissed his neck. He popped the button on Foster’s jeans. “You’re wearing way too many clothes.”
A smile snapped to Foster’s lips. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not wearing any?”
A sexy chuckle vibrated against his skin as he kissed Foster’s neck again. “There’s nothing stopping you from finding out.”
Foster turned. Sure enough, not a stitch. His dick hardened. Damn, everything about Atticus was sexy. People saw the wealthy businessman who looked cold and unfeeling when focused on anything. Foster got the privilege of seeing the body Atticus worked hard to keep, and when he turned animated, he was flawless.
“Gorgeous.”
Atticus smiled. Just sexy. “I know you are.”
Foster shook his head. He grabbed Atticus’ ass and hauled him fully against him so Atticus could feel his erection. “See what just the sight of you does to me.”
“I know. That’s what I’m banking on.” He unzipped Foster’s jeans while holding Foster’s gaze. “If you could see the way you look at me, you’d hate yourself.”
“Why?”
“You look obsessed.”
Foster had thrown pride out the window when he stalked Atticus. “I am.” He didn’t give Atticus time to say anything to ruin the moment. Foster tossed Atticus over his shoulder. While Atticus had the perfect body and scary fighting skills, Foster had size on his side. He had always been wide-shouldered and thick. Atticus was very portable to him.
Without thinking, Foster slapped Atticus’ bare ass before tossing him on the bed. The sound Atticus made had his earlier fears racing to the surface. Then he saw Atticus’ expression and all the clouds parted. He wasn’t scared of this.
Foster stripped while staring down at Atticus and letting his hunger grow. “We’re about to play a game.”
Atticus lifted one eyebrow, but he didn’t argue.
Once nude, Foster crawled onto the bed. With his back against the headboard, Foster patted his lap. “Right here. Facedown.”
Heat flared in Atticus’ eyes, and he obeyed without argument. The more turned on Atticus looked, the more aroused Foster became.
Foster dragged his short fingernails down Atticus’ back. A trail of goosebumps followed in their wake. He slapped Atticus’ ass again before soothing his hand over the abused ass cheek in apology. The low moans escaping Atticus had Foster all in.
He spit down Atticus’ crack and used the moisture to finger Atticus the way Foster knew he liked it. “You’re not allowed to come.”
Atticus whimpered.
