Page 15 of Returning to Pine Ridge
The way he touches me with confidence and care drives me wild. It’s not faking or performing. He takes his time, pays attention to every reaction, adjusts based on what makes me respond. He’s Atlas.
My Atlas,my brain offers, but I try to push it aside. I have no claim to this man other than this stolen moment and any others he’s willing to give me.
I watch him, my hand in his hair, and I think about how rare this is. How rare it is to find someone who shows up like this. Willing to be vulnerable. Willing to give.
He takes me deeper, and I have to grip the bookshelf to keep from losing my balance. The pleasure is building, radiating through my entire body. I’m close. I want to warn him, but the way his tongue works me is sinful.
I come with an intensity that makes stars appear behind my eyes.
He swallows, then pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s smiling that Atlas smile I’m growing to crave.
I pull him back up.
“That was incredible,” he says.
“I don’t disagree.”
We stand like that for a while, just breathing the same air, being close and grinning at each other. Eventually, we separate enough to fix our clothes. The reality of what just happened is sinking in.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual and probably failing. “When are you heading back to Denver?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know, actually.”
I look at him, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it. My life in Denver is … it’s not what I told people it was. Maybe I should tell my parents. Maybe I should stay here for a while. Figure things out.”
“That’s a big decision.”
“I know. But being here, talking to you … it made me realize I can’t keep running from the truth. And maybe Pine Ridge isn’t where I’m supposed to be forever, but right now, it feels like the right place to be.”
I step closer and take his hand. “I think that’s brave.”
“I think I’m terrified.”
“I understand,” I say. “But brave and terrified aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He squeezes my hand. “I still want to record that message for my parents. The real one. The honest one.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
We walk across the road to the Community Center and the recording booth in the Airstream, and this time when Atlas presses the red button, he knows exactly what he’s going to say.
5
ATLAS
The following day,Kai and I are back in the back room again, surrounded by wall-to-wall shelves of books that now keep more of my secrets. The space feels different from when I first walked in—charged, intimate in a way it wasn’t before yesterday. Before his mouth was on me. Before my back was against these same shelves, books digging into my spine while he took me apart with his hands and tongue.
I’m hyperaware of every time our hands brush. Every time he leans close, I remember the weight of him pressed against me, the taste of him, the sound he made when he came. His eyes meet mine, and I know he’s thinking about it too. The heat in his gaze tells me he remembers every single second—the way I gasped his name, the way my fingers gripped his shoulders, the way we couldn’t get enough of each other.
I wonder if I can make it happen again. If I could lean over, kiss him, push him back against those shelves the way he pushed me. My heart races at the thought, anticipation building in my chest.
But I don’t want only what happened yesterday. I want more. And more can’t happen in the small room of a public building.
Which means I’m going to have to be patient and keep working. I grab another group of files and open the first one.
The name that changed my life—that ruined it—appears on a file I find while organizing the archive. My hands still as if the paper could burn my skin, but all I feel is cold.
