Quincy's POV
It's a miracle I'm still standing because I'm so nervous I might faint. My stomach's been in knots all day, and despite the hours I've had to prepare, I'm still on edge. Seeing Atlas again after all this time has my nerves buzzing like electricity under my skin. I've taken three showers today. The last one was over an hour ago, and I'm still burning up.
It's well past midnight, and I'm still pacing the living room like a caged animal. I should be asleep, there is school in the morning, but my nerves won't let me rest. I've cleaned the whole house, flipped through a book, even tried to distract myself with schoolwork, but nothing helps. I promised myself I wouldn't be that girl, the one glued to the window like she's in some corny rom-com. And yet... here I am.
Pacing.
Peeking outside every five minutes. Restless and annoyed with myself. It's pathetic. I know it is. But I can't help it. A faint engine rumble nearly makes me throw up my heart. It's him. I hurry to the window, careful not to let the curtain shift too much. A sleek black SUV glides to a stop in front of the house. The windows are tinted, but I know it's him. The headlights cut off.
The door opens. He steps out, and my mouth dries instantly. Black slacks hugging strong thighs. A white dress shirt clinging to his body like it was made for him. Rolled sleeves showing the forearms I've fantasized about more times than I care to admit. His dark hair is slicked back, exposing the sharp angles of his face. And then I see it.
No beard.
My lips part. I hadn't expected that. The beard always gave him that rugged, older edge. Without it, he looks younger, sleeker... but no less sexier. I bite my lip and grip the curtain tighter as I track his every move. My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears, I'm afraid I might go deaf. When he grabs his suitcases from the trunk and heads for the front door, my pulse spikes.
I force myself away from the window and check my reflection in the mirror near the entrance, pushing down the ridiculous wave of nerves trying to climb up my throat. I smooth my hair, adjust the hem of my oversized t-shirt to look casual, and pretend like I haven't been preparing for this moment all day. My shorts cling high on my thighs-definitely too short, but I push the thought aside.
Too late to change now.
The lock clicks. I pull the door open just as Atlas steps inside, and his cologne hits me like a punch to the throat. Sharp, clean, rich, and masculine in a way that makes my knees go weak. It smells like power and s*x and something I've missed way too much. I inhale without meaning to. It's borderline criminal how good he smells.
He freezes the second he sees me.
For a second, he just stands there, suitcase in one hand, keys in the other, and eyes drinking me in like he wasn't expecting... this. I meet his gaze, and it takes everything in me not to melt under the weight of it. I hoped to get his attention with this outfit, and from the way his hazel eyes darken and his jaw tightens, I can tell I did.
"Quincy." Atlas finally speaks, his voice low and rough, how I remember it. Maybe even rougher.
The way my name drips from his tongue sends a delightful shiver through my cl*t. I grip the door tighter, trying to stay upright.
"Why are you still up? It's past midnight." He continues, his hunter eyes never leaving mine, and I swallow hard, biting my lip.
'I was waiting for you.' But I didn't say that.
"Oh, um, I was just finishing up some homework. Didn't realize how late it got." I lie.
He stays silent, just lets his eyes roam over me with such intensity that it feels almost like he's touching me. I glance down at my socks, trying to hide my flushed face, and move aside to let him in. Atlas steps inside, his arm brushing mine just enough to set my butterflies alight.
I lock the door behind me and trail after him. I try to keep my nerves under control, but being this close to him after so long sends my heart into overdrive. The effect he has on me is overwhelming and too much to handle.
"There's a room downstairs and one upstairs. Whichever you want." I tell him, forcing calm into my voice, like I don't care either way, even though I do. He looks around for a beat, then gestures with a nod.
"Downstairs is fine." Of course it is. It's on the opposite side of my room. I mask my disappointment with a faint smile and reach for one of his bags.
"Let me help."
"I've got it, Quincy." He says, already moving to grab both.
But I beat him to it. Our hands brush.
It's the stupidest, most cliché kind of contact, but the jolt that shoots up my arm is real. It's like touching a live wire. Atlas pulls back like the bag shocked him, and when our eyes meet again, neither of us speaks.
The air feels different, charged with something I can't quite. My heart is pounding so hard, I'm sure he can hear it too. Before Atlas can say anything, I quickly take the smaller suitcase.
"This way." I mumble, already heading towards the room. The house is quite huge, so it takes time to get there. As we walk through the hallway, Atlas remains silent. I can feel his intense gaze on me, almost as if he's burning a hole through my skin.
My cheeks flush, and I feel a wetness pooling between my legs, making me increasingly aware of how I'm reacting to his presence. I walk a little slower than usual, and my shorts ride up just a little more with every step. Not on purpose. But I don't fix them, either. I steal a quick glance at him, but when our eyes meet, I shiver and look away.
"How was work?" I ask over my shoulder, needing something… anything to fill the space between us. "Mom was pretty p*ss*d you didn't say goodbye."
Atlas exhales through his nose. "Work was hectic. I got caught up in things and lost track of time." He replies, his voice calm but somewhat distant.
The silence falls again, and I feel a bit down. It seems like there's an emotional barrier between us, and it's making everything feel more awkward than I expected. I push the bedroom door open with a soft creak, set the bag down, and glance over my shoulder.
He steps past me, dropping his second bag beside it. "Thanks for bringing this up." Atlas says, and I just smile. As he sits on the bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt, I catch a glimpse of the chain he always wears, a simple silver pendant resting against his chest.
I've seen it before, but the sight makes my cl*t thump sharply. I desperately squeeze my thighs to control the pulsating sensation. Atlas catches the subtle movement, his eyes dropping to my clenched thighs before meeting my flushed face.
"Did you eat?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. He nods, stretching slightly.
"Earlier. You?"
"Yeah." I lie. The room falls into an awkward silence, and he studies me for a moment, but doesn't call me on it.
"You should get some sleep," he finally says, grabbing a spare towel from his bag. "You've got school in the morning."
I nod bitterly biting the inside of my cheek, wishing I could stay with him a bit longer. "Goodnight, Atlas." I say softly.
"Night, Quincy."
I leave the room, shutting the door behind me. Back in the hallway, I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. My chest is tight, my head spinning, my panties soaked.
"Four months." I exhaled.
And that was just night one.