Chapter118 – Nothing happened
Her hands rose to push him away—but he was faster.
He caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head. The other hand slid boldly under the hem of her shirt, brushing against bare skin.
“Atticus!” she gasped, her voice breaking.
Her thoughts were in chaos, panic mixing with the dangerous thrum in her veins. He kissed me. And he’s touching me…
His hands trembled as they roamed. Everything about her was more vivid than in his dreams—softer, sweeter, more intoxicating.
He could hardly breathe. God, I want her. I want her so badly.
“Clarissa…” he groaned, pressing against her. “I’ve gone mad without you…”
Clarissa’s chest rose and fell with every breath, her body sliding down the door as her knees gave out beneath her.
But just as his mouth found her neck, her voice broke, choked with tears.
“Don’t…”
Atticus froze. And then, just like that, he stepped back, his body still heaving with breath.
Just when Clarissa let out a shaky breath of relief— Atticus suddenly scooped her into his arms.
"Atticus!" she yelped, but he didn’t stop.
He strode straight into his bedroom, kicked the door open with one swift motion, and placed her on the bed like something precious.
Clarissa reacted instinctively, pushing at his chest, struggling beneath him. “Atticus, stop! You’re drunk!”
But he was too strong. Effortlessly, he pinned her down, then began pulling off his coat and shirt, one piece at a time.
Clarissa trembled as her eyes were drawn, helplessly, to his body—lean, muscular, breathtakingly perfect.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned through clenched teeth. “If you so much as touch me like that, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”
Instead of going further, Atticus collapsed against her and wrapped his burning-hot body around hers.
Clarissa tensed all over. Her heart raced, breath shallow. But… nothing happened.
He rested his head beside hers, brushing away her tears with a gentleness.
“Don’t cry…” he whispered, voice thick with longing. “I’d never hurt you. Clarissa… how could I ever bring myself to hurt you?”
Clarissa's eyes filled again, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. “You call this not hurting me?”
He held her closer, murmuring like he hadn’t even heard her. “You’re… different tonight.”
Clarissa didn’t respond. She didn't want to hear what version of her had visited his dreams. She just wanted this heat, this confusion, this dangerously blurred line between dream and reality—to stop.
Atticus was down to his briefs now, his bare chest pressed to hers, his skin hot enough to sear. She could feel every sculpted line of him.
It made her entire body tense… and something else she wasn’t ready to name.
“You always smile at me in my dreams,” he said quietly. “You’re soft. Obedient. I can touch you however I want…”
“Atticus!” she snapped, cheeks flaming with a mix of anger and humiliation.
He laughed low. “But I never get to kiss you. I always wake up before it happens. But now... now I can hold you. I can sleep with you in my arms. God, I’m so happy.”
As he spoke, his lips grazed her ear, then the sensitive curve of her neck. She shivered involuntarily.
Clarissa reached up to shove him away, but he caught her hand and kissed the inside of her fingers—slow, reverent, maddening.
“Atticus…” she growled.
“Shhh… go to sleep,” he whispered.
Then he let go of her hand, nestled against her like a child, and shut his eyes.
Within minutes, his breathing deepened.
Clarissa tilted her head slightly to study his face in the moonlight. Long lashes cast delicate shadows, like black butterflies resting softly against his cheek. And there, on his lips, was a faint, boyish smile—innocent, content.
Her heart wavered.
She gently tried to pry his arm off her waist, but his grip didn’t loosen. It was like trying to move a boulder in your sleep.
Clarissa gave up with a soft sigh, lying still and staring at the ceiling.
What’s happening to me? she thought.
If this had been anyone else—any other man—who dared touch her this way, she would’ve thrown them out without a second thought. She would’ve slammed the door, erased their presence, never looked back.
But with Atticus…
She bit her lip. I’m losing it, she thought.
Atticus slept peacefully through the night, but Clarissa only drifted off at dawn—and it was anything but restful.
When she woke, he was still there, wrapped tightly around her like an oversized octopus, his arm over her waist, his leg draped across hers.
No wonder she felt suffocated.
Clarissa groaned softly and tried to squirm free.
But the moment she moved, his eyes opened. In a blur, he rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath his body.
“Clarissa…” His voice was husky, rough with morning. And there was something else there—heat, tension, need. “If you keep moving… I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold back.”
“Are you trying to suffocate me to death? Get off!”
He raised his body slightly and stared down at her, eyes dark and unreadable.
“I had the longest dream,” he murmured. “How are you here, in my bed, wrapped up in my arms? I must still be dreaming… and I don’t want to wake up.”
Then, like a dog claiming his favorite toy, he nuzzled into her neck, breathing her in.
If it weren’t for the unmistakable, burning hardness pressed against her leg—impossible to ignore—Clarissa might have almost believed the nonsense this shameless man was spewing.
She lost her patience. Without warning, she reached out and yanked his ear hard.
“Are you drunk, you damn brat? Get off me. Now!”
“Ah—oww…” The sting of pain finally stopped Atticus from trying to sneak another inch of advantage.
The mischief still curling at the corners of his lips—though Clarissa couldn’t see it.
Instead, he quickly put on a pained expression, his voice turning pitiful. “Ah… Sister… it hurts… it really hurts. Can’t you forgive me?”
Forgive him?
Clarissa had been tormented enough last night and was still fuming. She gave his ear another hard twist, not stopping until the skin turned red and visibly swollen.
Only then did she push him away, climb out of bed in a huff, and storm out of the room.
Atticus scrambled for his pants, tugged them on, and rushed after her like a scolded puppy.
“Sis! Clarissa! Are you mad at me? I didn’t mean it—I swear! I thought you didn’t want me anymore, so I…”
“So you went out drinking?” Clarissa snapped, spinning to face him. “You got drunk, sat outside my door yelling in the middle of the night—do you even feel shame?”
Faced with her full wrath, Atticus lowered his eyes, looking for all the world like an obedient dog being chastised.
Clarissa lifted her hand, ready to give him another piece of her mind… but the moment she saw that pitiful face, her words caught in her throat.
She turned sharply and stomped back to her room.
Atticus chased after her. “Sister, I thought I was dreaming last night. I really didn’t do anything to you, did I? Right?”
Clarissa spun on her heel, her cheeks burning with fury and embarrassment. “Atticus!”
He blinked innocently. “What? I didn’t do anything, did I… Sister?”
Those wide eyes, those soft lips—it only made her angrier.
“I’m done talking to you!” she snapped, storming into her room and slamming the door behind her.
Atticus stood in the hallway, locked out, but his grin only widened.
He quickly turned back to his room, washed up, changed clothes, and made his way to the kitchen.
Clarissa sulked in her room for half an hour. But she had to go to work.
When she finally stepped out, freshly dressed, the scent hit her first—warm, rich, inviting.
Her gaze landed on the table.