Page 31 of Returning to Pine Ridge
I want to believe him. I want to let myself fall into this without fear. But I’ve been careful for so long, protecting myself, that it’s hard to let those walls down.
“Can we just … take it slow?” I ask. “I know that probably sounds strange considering what we’ve already done, but emotionally, I need to take this slow.”
“As slow as you want,” Atlas says.
I kiss him, soft and slow, and it feels like a promise. Not a promise that everything will be perfect, but a promise that we’re both going to try.
When we break apart, I’m breathing hard.
“I really like you,” I say. “Even though it terrifies me.”
“I really like you too,” he replies. “About the slow stuff …” He kisses me again until my brain is mush. “How slow are we talking about?”
I pull him toward the couch, and he follows willingly. I sit down and take him with me, guiding him to straddle my lap. He settles there, his knees on either side of my hips, and I can feel the weight of him, the warmth of his body.
“Hi,” he says softly, his forehead resting against mine.
“Hi,” I reply.
We kiss again, and this time it’s colored with desperation. His hands grip my shoulders, and I slide my hands down his back, pulling him closer. He rocks his hips against mine, and I groan into his mouth.
“I take it this speed is okay,” he says, breaking the kiss slightly.
“Fuck yeah. This is more than okay,” I say.
He continues rocking against me, and I meet each movement with my own. The friction builds between us, and my cock goes rock-hard in my sweatpants. He’s hard too—I can feel it against my thigh.
“Kai,” he breathes, his head tilted back.
I lean forward and kiss his neck, my hands firm on his hips to guide his movements. We find a rhythm, moving in sync, the friction between us building toward the inevitable.
“Oh fuck, Kai. You feel so good,” Atlas says, his voice rough.
“Keep going, Atlas. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop until we’re both coming. Atlas tenses above me, his face buried in my neck, and I follow moments later, the pleasure radiating through my entire body.
We collapse together, breathless and sweaty, and I just hold him for a moment. His heart is racing against my chest, and I can feel his breath evening out gradually.
“I’m going to need to go home to change clothes,” he says after a few minutes, laughing when he looks at his jeans and the small wet patch that will only get bigger the longer he keeps them on.
I laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. “Maybe you should bring a few spare changes. You know, just in case we get carried away other times.”
He pulls back to look at me, and the softness in his expression makes my chest ache. “That’s not too fast?”
“I changed my mind,” I say. “We can go as fast as it feels right.”
We spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon working on the presentation.
I put his clothes through the wash while we work so he doesn’t have to go home to change.
Even in my borrowed loose sweatpants and too-big T-shirt, Atlas is the sexiest man I’ve ever been with, and trying to concentrate when I know we’ll have a real chance to see where this thing between us is going is harder than I thought.
But not impossible. At least not after a second round of orgasms in the shower before we finally get to work.
Atlas has organized everything Jordan sent him into a clear, compelling narrative. We go through it together, refining the language, making sure the evidence is presented in a way that’s accessible to the community.
By the time we need to leave for the community center, I’m confident that what we have will make it difficult for people to dismiss HelixGen’s threat.
