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“Sexy. Definitely a bad boy type. Way out of his league.” Atticus could feel his jaw drop as he stared at Lucas in betrayal. “He clearly doesn’t know it, though,” Lucas continued quickly. “Because, even in his grief, it was clear he was into Atticus.” Un-fucking-believable.
“Thomas and Aiden…you know…” Noah trailed off, nodding like that would somehow make them connect whatever dots lingered. When none of them finished his vague statement, he scoffed. “Oh, my God. They’re hot for each other.”
Jericho wanted to own Atticus. To keep him. To protect him. He wanted to be his safe place to land. Wanted Atticus to be as vulnerable out of the bedroom as he was inside it.
“Come on. I wanna feel you come on my cock before I breed this tight little hole.”
Atticus slipped on a pair of athletic shorts, stiffening when Jericho’s arms came around him from behind. “What are you doing?” Jericho chuckled. “Hugging you.” “Why?” Jericho kissed his shoulder, lips lingering as his hands splayed over his belly. “Because I like touching you. You smell good, and you’re warm.” Atticus did his best to relax. “Oh.”
Atticus snatched Jericho’s hands before they could slip from around him, pulling them back into place and holding them there in case he tried to leave again. He leaned back, liking the feel of their skin touching. “No. I just… I don’t know how to process affection.”
“Freckles, a cactus is tame in comparison.
“No. I act like you’re the delicate flower you are. It’s not a bad thing. You like mom cars and bow-ties and submitting in bed. I’m here for it. Honestly, I like the idea of being the one who handles your needs.” He rolled his hips against his suggestively. “All your needs.”
Did it make him a bad person that he didn’t want to pay bills or change a tire or slit the throat of some Columbian drug lord?
“No, Freckles. It’s my favorite movie because when he said, ‘fear me, love me, and I will be your slave,’ I realized that I had a very specific kink.”
You want to play mad scientist in your lab while somebody else takes care of you. I’m offering to be that somebody.”
Who cared if letting Jericho baby him made him a bad person?
“I’m not letting you go, Freckles. I’m just not. You can call it a business arrangement, an affair, a kidnapping, some kind of midlife crisis. But whatever you call it, you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
“Grab your laptop. I’m going to order dinner.” Atticus frowned. “You don’t know what I want.” Jericho grinned. “What do you want?” Atticus’s brain ground to a halt, indecision stopping him in his tracks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll pick. Anything you don’t like?”
Mocking it clearly made him happy, and Atticus happy was such a singularly bizarre experience that Jericho watched him more than the screen.
Who knew psychopaths were so delicate?
Yet, he seemed perfectly relaxed in Jericho’s arms, cozy even. Jericho kissed his temple, then his cheek. Atticus didn’t openly acknowledge the casual affection but Jericho got to watch the flush run from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears before he took a handful of popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth, pointedly refusing to make eye contact again.
“I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You’ll sit here and you’ll let me. You’ll let me do anything I want to you, and we both know it.”
God, why was that so fucking hot? What did it say about Jericho that being with Atticus, taking care of him, controlling him—being the only one who could—made his dick harder than anything ever had before? There was something so…potent…about being the only person in the world who got to see somebody like Atticus at their most vulnerable.
Atticus harrumphed like the spoiled brat he was. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue.”
Atticus shifted slightly when Jericho’s fingers began to trail along his chest and belly. Atticus was so into being touched. He loved it. He gravitated towards it without thought. It was so hot.
“Do you think I want anybody else? Nobody compares to you, Freckles. You are this weirdly perfect combination of impenetrable and vulnerable and I can’t fucking get enough of it.”
“I know. I don’t like killing, but I’d kill for you, too.” Jericho’s stomach fluttered. “I know, Freckles. I know.”
Jericho snickered. “I brought some of those granola bars you like. They’re in my pack.” “You did?” “Yeah, Freckles. I know eating isn’t a big priority for you. Can’t have you wasting away.” He slapped Atticus’s ass as if to make a point
“Fuck if I know. I never thought we’d be a family whose family tree doesn’t fork.”
He didn’t want to be away from Atticus right now. Or ever, really.
His shoulders sagged when he saw Atticus starfished naked on his belly, snoring softly, back rising and falling rhythmically.
“I swear you were created in a lab, Freckles.”
Was Atticus an annoyingly finicky perfectionist? Yes. But he was Jericho’s annoyingly finicky perfectionist and he would protect what was his, even if it meant hacking off his future in-laws’ appendages until they got the point.
Future in-laws? Jericho side-eyed Atticus. Yeah, he’d marry him. He didn’t care if it was fast, or if it was right, or if one or both of their families protested. Atticus needed to be protected, coddled even.
He needed to know that Atticus was as territorial as he was, as fucked up over him as he was over Atticus. That he’d kill for him. Die for him. That this obsessive compulsion was a two-way street. That there was some kind of unspoken agreement that the only way out of this relationship—no matter how fucked up—was if one of them stopped breathing.
He needed to be his sole focus. The one person who knew the key to unlocking the real Atticus, equal parts brilliant killer and eager submissive. But only for Jericho.
I’m completely addicted to everything about you.”
“Um, no. We’re definitely not lizard people.” “That’s what a lizard person would say,” Benny reasoned. He wasn’t wrong. Atticus doubted any reptilian creature would tell the world they were inhuman.
“I’ve got my guys out there questioning people. Seven said—” “Seven? You got a guy named Seven?” Avi asked. “Is that pertinent to the story?” Thomas asked, leveling his dad stare at him. “No, I guess not,” Avi mumbled.
No amount of familiarity had ever allowed him to relax his fear of embarrassment, of never being good enough for his family. But there was none of that with Jericho.
“Who are you fucking people?” Jericho’s smile unnerved even Atticus. “Neighborhood watch.”
August and Lucas were having dinner with Cricket and said it was ‘too important to cancel.’
Avi smirked. “That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll look just as good on top.”
“That was both uncomfortable and highly disturbing, so kudos for that,
“What did I miss?” “I have no idea, but I wish I’d missed it, too,” Atticus said.
“God, that’s hot. Just remember, kitten, in the office you have to call me Mr. Cretin. I wouldn’t want anybody to think I’m playing favorites.”
“Damn, Daddy,” Seven muttered under his breath. Thomas didn’t acknowledge what they’d all heard, but the smallest of smiles formed,
“That dick must be fucking magical.” Felix groaned. “Gross.” Avi feigned contrition. “Sorry, kitten.”
That was for Atticus. Somehow, Atticus knew that was Jericho calming him down.
He just needed to touch him, feel the heat of his body, feel his breath, hear his voice. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. That was so close. Too close.
Jericho laughed, lips dragging across Atticus’s. “I do okay for myself, Freckles, but my name’s not Rockefeller.” Atticus’s mouth went desert dry. “But it could be Mulvaney.” Jericho’s whole body went rigid for a split second, then Jericho peered up at him. “Did…did you just propose to me, Freckles?” Atticus gave a stilted nod. “I think I did, yeah.”
No, Atticus much preferred his and Jericho’s children. They were fully grown and completely self-sufficient. Well, okay, not completely, but there were no diapers or teething or schoolyard bullies.
Atticus flushed to the tips of his ears. He did love that. He loved falling asleep with Jericho inside him, or with him still in his mouth. Sometimes, he would just lie there with his head in his lap, Jericho’s soft cock in his mouth as they watched TV and Jericho threading fingers through his hair.
Jericho loved it. He told Atticus all the time. He’d play with his hair and tell him how much he loved how needy Atticus was, how he loved that Atticus needed them to be joined in some way as often as possible.
