As usual, Atlas doesn't fail to surprise me. And annoys me, apparently.

He stands in front of me, and I have let myself believe he'd finally have sex with me on a bed. Which ends with me feeling disappointed when he takes a step back instead.

I don't dare speaking, though I want to. But even if I could bring words past my lips, I don't think they would be intelligible.

Atlas looks down at me, his eyes moving over my body like he is taking a million pictures in his head. He looks at every part of me, a small smile tugging on his lips as he does.

Every spot his eyes lie on, it burns like he's holding a flame to my skin. But then the fire travels to the next spot, following his gaze.

It's getting harder to breathe with every second he just looks at me. I want—need—him to touch me. The heat no longer lingers on the parts he has his eyes on, it's now traveling right down, between my legs.

"Atlas?" His eyes find mine. They're filled with admiration, I think? It's something I haven't seen yet. Something so much deeper, an insight to his emotions, I don't think anyone has ever seen it in him.

"You make me weak, Sierra" his words come back to my mind. I didn't know what he meant, I don't think I do now either...but I can see it. I can see his vulnerability. I can see the internal fight with himself as he looks at me, like he doesn't know what he is doing but he also doesn't really care much.

Suddenly, I feel awkward just standing right in front of him as he stares at me. So I take a step closer. He doesn't comment, but his eyes follow me. I reach a hand out, taking the nearest of his in mine.

His eyes fall further down, looking at our hands. Watching in silence as I turn his hand around and look at his wedding ring. He always wears it. I don't think I've seen him take it off even once.

That might sound stupid, but Atlas is a soft brick. He is always so tense and stone-like, like nothing can shake him. But then he's at home with me. Suddenly, he's a whole other person. He laughs, he plays with my hair, touches me. Sometimes I think he feels the need to touch me, just to make sure I'm real.

"Atlas?" I try again, looking up into his eyes. He finds mine. I smile at him, but his expression stays the same. The same unbothered look with something much deeper in his eyes.

"Take off your dress," he commands, watching me as I obey. It almost happens automatically, like I can't even control my own body.

Atlas licks his lips, his eyes following my hands as I reach down to lift my dress.

"On second thought..." he doesn't finish his sentence. His hands find mine, lifting my arms over my head. Slowly, he traces his fingers down my arms, stroking along the sides of my breasts, all the way down to the skirt of my dress. "Can I?" he asks like I wasn't totally down to strip already.

As I know he wouldn't accept a nod, I voice a "yes". Simple but effective.

He lifts my dress, the room getting hotter with every inch my dress moves up. As he pulls it over my head, sliding it off my arms, Atlas folds the dress and neatly lays it down on my nightstand.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he looks at me, his hands back on my body. Though not inappropriately. He turns me to face the mirror that faces my bedside. For whatever reasons this bedroom has a whole wall made of a mirror. It's not even attached to a closet.

I'm just in my lacy panties and bra, a sight I'd normally feel completely vulnerable in, be disgusted by myself. But not tonight. Atlas makes me feel...pretty. He makes me feel comfortable in my own skin.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, sending a shiver down my spine. His nose strokes along my neck, but his eyes are on mine, our gazes meeting through the mirror.

I'd thank him, but I can't seem to find my voice. Not as he kisses my skin so softly, it feels like holy water dropping down on my skin. Though, nothing of this seems holy. Not when I'm standing half-naked in front of a mirror with a man almost to worth-shipping my existence alone.

And especially not when he is tracing his fingers up my back and hooks them into the elastic of my bra, unclasping it.

With kisses on the back of my neck and top of my spine, Atlas slowly slides the straps of my bra down my arms. And just like the dress, he puts it away, neatly. It's like he allows himself to take his time with me.

His hands lie on my belly, fingers tracing along the stretch marks that showed up thanks to the pregnancy.

He knows I hate them. I knew they'd come, and I'm not mad about it. They're a sign of my pregnancy and if they do stay forever, I'll wear them with pride. But as of now, I'm still having a hard time accepting them.

"So fucking beautiful," he whispers into my ear, softly nipping on my earlobe. "You're a work of art, sweetheart."

Whatever this is, I doubt it's going to be a casual fuck. Atlas hasn't yet sweet-talked me while we had sex. Maybe a few words, but he never paid so much attention to me.

But I love it. Every single second. He makes me feel valued. Like I mean more than just being a woman he married for the sake of his child. He treats me like I'm his wife. Like he loves me. Like he truly wants me in his life, throw the world to me feet, even if I couldn't give anything back in return.

"How did you imagine to lose your virginity?" he asks, temporarily throwing me off. Why would he want to know?

"I don't know," I breathe, leaning my head back against him. He turns me in his arms, kissing me with what I hope is love. If it's not, I will have to run away right now, otherwise I won't survive this man.

"No unrealistic expectations whatsoever?"

Even if I did, it's a little bit too late for it. "I always thought it would be romantic," I tell him, because that's truly what I wanted before I got raped. "Candles, maybe."

"Of course." He chuckles, though I don't think that was a laughing-at-me one, but a too-cliché-chuckle.

"Don't you think it's a bit unfair that I'm only in my panties while you're completely dressed?" I ask, turning the conversation away from virginity-talk.

He smiles and presses his lips to mine. I never thought one kiss could awake so many feelings inside of me. So many emotions, I can't even name them all. A warmth spreads in my chest, a sudden urge to say a three-words-sentence, to a man I didn't even know could ever get this close to me, threaten to rush out of me.

I can't fall for him before he falls for me...at least that's what I kept telling myself the past weeks. And now I think I'm in deep shit. It's too late. I already fell.

His kiss tingles on my skin, sparks like fireworks going off inside of me.

Then his hands reach to his dress shirt, one after the other, he opens the buttons until he can slide the shirt off his arms. Like he did with my dress, he folds it and lies it aside.

I take him in. His broad shoulders; his smooth chest; his toned abs; and of course, the perfectly defined V that disappears in his suit pants. If I were to guess his age by the look of his torso, Id say he's twenty-four, like me.

I stroke a hand down his chest, my fingers softly discovering every single ripple like I've never met them before. He breathes heavier, his heart beats a bit father as I hold my palm right over it.

After a while, Atlas lifts my face to his, having decided I've looked at him for long enough. What he doesn't know, I could never get enough of looking at him.

"Get naked, I'll be right back." Atlas kisses my forehead, then leaves the room and leaves me standing here, in just my panties, ordering me to strip off them.

Argh, who am I to disobey? He'll come back.

I do as I'm told and strip. Though, I have no idea what to do now. Do I lie in bed? Do I keep standing here, probably looking extremely awkward?

It doesn't matter because suddenly I'm looking at myself in the mirror. I've never been the one to criticise myself. Well, apart from the healthy amount through the day. But I mean body-wise. I always loved my body. I accepted every single flaw, like the fact that my boobs were too small. Or so I used to think.

I like them now. Okay, maybe currently they're a lot bigger than usual, but I still like the smaller ones. I think they fit to me.

Anyway, looking at myself now...it doesn't bring the same admiration. I catch myself criticising every single flaw I can find. The belly that I actually love very much because I am carry a child; it bothers me right now. The stretch marks, I don't like them very much. The fact that my boobs did get bigger; I don't like it.

I look tired, exhausted even. My thighs got slightly bigger, probably from all the donuts I've had.

I have to close my eyes, no longer being able to look at myself in the mirror.

I'm a completely different Sierra now than I was when Atlas met me. "There is no way he still finds me attractive," I mutter to myself.

"I do." His voice streams through my ears like he's actually in the room. "You're perfect, sweetheart. You've always been." He sounds too close, as though he was right behind me. "C'mere."

Huh?

I allow myself to open my eyes, only for them to meet with Atlas's. Of course he would hear what I've said.

Atlas pulls me into his arms, his front pressing to my back. "You're so fucking gorgeous, Sierra." The same warm hand that was on me before is back, once again lighting up a torch in my stomach. "Every single mark"—he glides one finger over the stretch marks on my stomach—"they're so beautiful."

"These," he says and cups my breasts in his hands. His hands are so big, even now that my boobs have sized up, they still fit in them perfectly. "I love them as much as I did two sizes down."

A smile appears on my face, it's a small one but genuine.

Atlas squeezes my breasts, not too much as he knows they're a little sore. Then he turns me, forcing me to face him.

Atlas kisses me, then down my neck, leaving wet kisses all over my collarbones, my cleavage. He doesn't suck my nipples into his mouth, though I can tell it's a real challenge for him not to do so. It draws a chuckle right out of me.

Atlas knows my breasts have been leaking for a while now, which is why sucking on my nipples is a hard pass. From both sides.

A hand of his slides down my body, finding between my legs. I almost fall right against him as his finger slips through my folds, dips past my opening and right into me.

As he lifts me off the ground, only then do I notice the lit candles in the room, shining at me through the mirror. A gasp leaves my mouth, but is soon toned down by Atlas's mouth on mine.

"You don't get to gasp unless it's in my mouth while I'm balls deep inside of you," he says, strictly.

I guess we moved on from sweet-talking.

He lies me down on the bed, only leaving me to take off his remaining clothes. This time, he doesn't fold them all neatly and puts them aside. He just lets his dropped pants and underwear lying right on the floor before he hovers over my body.

"You went to get candles," I note as I find my voice, having to speak between kisses.

Atlas just hums a confirmation.

"Why?" Cause you said you wanted them, Sierra.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he says, "Sierra?" which I don't reply to as he knows I'm listening. "Stop asking questions and let me have sex with my wife."

"I think I can—" my words are cut off by Atlas easing his cock inside of me. He knew there was no foreplay needed, his words from earlier were more than enough to get me wet. Perhaps that's why is fingers were inside me a minute ago—testing a theory and such.

He doesn't push inside of me as rough as he usually would. He is slow, gentle; and with every inch he enters me, he kisses me a bit more passionately, more nerve-wrecking.

His kisses touch my heart, warm every piece of my body that is imaginable. And with every kiss, I could swear I'm getting wetter as the heat radiates right down between my legs.

I can feel Atlas intertwine our hands as he eases out of me a few inches, then pushes back in. And although his hands are so much bigger than my own, they seem to fit together perfectly. It's as though his hands—his body—was made to fit mine. Only mine. Like a puzzle piece, but with three dead ends and only one side fitting to another.

Tonight, sex with my husband feels differently, and I refuse to believe it's because we're in our bedroom.

It is so intense, I think I might lose my mind. His thrusts not only reach a part inside of me that elicit moans from my throat; they make me want to cry. Not for the reason of it being intense only, but because I can feel Atlas. I can feel him on my body, I can feel him in my blood, in my heart.

We're so close, chest-to-chest—though my bump makes it a bit more difficult—my legs are wrapped around his waist. We've been naked before, and yet I've never felt closer to him.

Every single thrust sends an enormous wave of heat curling through me, bringing me closer to an orgasm that will be so much more powerful, I just know it.

"Atlas," I moan into his mouth, getting a hoarse version of my own name rasped back into mine.

Somehow, I find enough strength to open my eyes and look right into his, right when I let go and allow my orgasm to consume me. Dopamine shooting through my body like it never has before.

A short moment later, I can feel Atlas release his cum inside of me, filling me up. And I'm sure, if I wasn't already pregnant, I'd be pregnant after this.

Atlas closes his eyes, exhaling a deep, soft breath like he's sending prayers to any God. Not sure what the prayer could be about, and I doubt I should ask.

When his eyes reopen, he kisses me and eases out of me. He lies on his back, rolling me over to my side so my head would lie on his chest.

Only as I listen to his heartbeat, feel his chest rise under me, I finally realise what this was. Atlas didn't fuck me...he made love to me.