Page 97 of To Have and To Hold
“So it was intentional?”
“Yes.”
“And that leaves us where?”
Slade looked up. “I don’t know.”
Goddammit. Atticus should’ve known Slade wouldn’t give him a straight answer. Then again, Atticus probably should’ve just let it go. And he would have—probably—if he could’ve been complacent about it. But that kind of thing didn’t happen to him. Unlike Slade and Carson, Atticus hadn’t played this game before. He’d never had sex with someone while someone else watched. Hell, he’d never been with two men at the same time. And while the interactions hadn’t been simultaneous, things had progressed fluidly from one step to the next.
“Have you talked to Carson about it?” Slade asked.
“Not yet.” He intended to, though.
“Maybe you should.”
Atticus stood. “No.Weshould. The three of us.”
Slade looked shocked, and yeah, maybe there was a hint of fear in his eyes.
“Unless there’s no chance of it ever happening again,” Atticus said as he took a step closer. “Is that what you’re tellin’ me, Slade? Was that a one-time thing?”
Slade didn’t answer, but his expression told Atticus everything. He was having second thoughts. At the very least, he had doubts, but he was refusing to share them.
“Fine.” Atticus huffed. “You can brood if you want, but I’m going to Carson’s for dinner. I can’t promise I’ll be home tonight.”
With that, he started for the door.
He hadn’t made it two steps when Slade grabbed his arm and spun him around. Atticus’s back hit the wall at the same time Slade’s mouth came down on his, hot and desperate.
Atticus knew he should’ve stood his ground. He should’ve pushed Slade away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
He honestly couldn’t explain what it was he was feeling or why. He was twenty-five years old, and he’d never found himself in a situation like this. Until he met Carson and Slade, he hadn’t known situations like this existed. He was in the middle of a game of tug-of-war with two incredibly enticing men, and he was the fucking rope.
Slade’s hands found their way under Atticus’s shirt while their tongues dueled. Atticus’s cock swelled as it did anytime Slade touched him. He’d spent an entire month aching for this very thing. For Slade’s dominance. He’d wanted to feel the need that poured off the man in waves, and here he was, giving him exactly what he’d wanted for so long.
“I want you so fuckin’ much it hurts,” Slade rasped against his lips.
Atticus knew the feeling. Which was why this situation was so damn complicated. How was it possible that he felt this exact overwhelming feeling for two men?
When Slade reached for the button on Atticus’s jeans, he put his hand over his to stop him.
“No.”
Instantly, Slade backed off. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he told him. “I just … we have to talk about this.”
Slade’s gaze shifted to meet his. Despite the heat still churning there, Atticus also saw something else. Torment?
“Let’s go to Carson’s for dinner.”
“Stay here tonight,” Slade countered.
Atticus frowned. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me choose.”
Slade held his stare, and something dangerous flashed in his gaze. “It sounds to me like you already have.”
Son of a bitch.
