I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Emery’s POV

We got inside, and honestly? I was running on good vibes, vodka, and the magic of seeing Atlas again.

The second the door shut, he shifted into full boyfriend mode….Boyfriend…I like the sound of that.

He helped me to my room, gently guiding me toward the bed like I was made of glass and chaos. Then, get this, he grabbed one of my oversized tees from the drawer, helped me out of my jeans without being a perv, and pulled it over my head.

As if that wasn’t enough to ruin me for all future men, he even tied my hair into the world’s softest ponytail. His fingers moved through my hair so carefully, like I was a literal princess. The kind who swears a lot and drinks tequila, but still, princess.

And just when I thought he was done with the sweetness? He dropped two pain meds and a full water bottle on my nightstand.

“Hydrate, champ,” he said with a small grin. “Your head’s gonna hate you in the morning.”

I blinked at him, heart already doing cartwheels. “Stay with me,” I mumbled, tugging lightly at the hem of his shirt like a needy, tipsy child who’d lost her emotional support hoodie.

His expression softened. Then he leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to my forehead. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

God…okay, now I felt all puddling and mushy.

I watched, entranced, as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it to the side, his abs catching the soft bedside light. I wanted to lick them. Fight them. Thank them for existing.

He slid under the covers beside me, and I immediately wiggled closer, curling against him like a sleepy kitten in heat. His arms wrapped around me, warm and strong, pulling me right into his chest.

“Better?” he asked, voice low and raspy near my ear.

I smiled. “Much better.”

We just… stared at each other for a second, noses almost touching, stupid smiles on both our faces, legs tangled, his thumb gently brushing my hip like he was drawing invisible circles. Then I couldn’t take it

anymore.

“Kiss me.”

His

gaze dropped to my lips, then flicked back up. That soft smile again. “I’ll kiss you plenty when you’re sober, baby.”

I groaned dramatically and buried my face in his neck, nuzzling like a cat in heat. He smelled like cologne, sweat, and that specific Atlas scent that always made my brain flatline. My lips brushed his skin, salty, warm, and I couldn’t help it. I sucked.

Emery, he moaned, low and rough.

That sound? Instant panties-ruiner. My whole body lit up. I dragged my nails lightly down his abs, feeling them jump under my fingers. He moaned again, deeper this time. I was soaked. Like, embarrassingly soaked.

I kept kissing, sucking, moving lower, but my drunk-ass coordination was trash. I pulled back, frowning, genuinely confused. “Dammit… where’s your dick?”

Atlas laughed, full, surprised, head tipping back against the pillow. “You’re fucking adorable. You can’t even find it. That right there tells me you’re drunk and need to sleep.”

While he was giving his little responsible-boy speech, my hand finally located the prize. I wrapped my fingers around him through the sweatpants and squeezed.

He jerked hard, breath punching out of him. All that “you need to sleep” talk evaporated.

“Emery…”

I batted my lashes up at him, full-on seductress mode (drunk edition). Yeah, I’m a whore. Move on. I kissed along his jaw, hand slipping under the waistband until I had hot, thick skin in my palm. I gave him one slow, firm stroke.

He groaned, eyes slamming shut, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast under my other hand.

“You got hard so quick,” I teased, voice husky, biting gently at his earlobe. “Makes me wonder if you’ve been hard this whole time. Were you waiting for me after the game? Did you want to fuck me the moment we got home? Because I wanted you to. I was seconds from ditching the girls and coming straight here.”

“Baby,” he groaned, the sound vibrating through me and making my nipples tighten painfully.

I hovered my lips over his, teasing, hand moving faster now, slow drags, then tighter squeezes. He let me torture him for maybe ten seconds before his control snapped. One big hand wrapped around the back of my neck and yanked me into a kiss that stole every molecule of air in my lungs.

I moaned into his mouth. Then, faster than my drunk brain could track, he flipped me onto my back, pinning both my wrists above my head with one hand. Our breaths were ragged, loud in the quiet room. His cock was out of his sweats now, hard and dripping against my thigh.

He looked down at me, really looked. Eyes dark, jaw clenched, fighting so hard I could see the war behind them.

“Emery,” he said, voice strained, “I promise I’ll fuck you good tomorrow. I’ll make you come so many times you forget your own name. But I can’t do that while you’re drunk, okay?”

I pouted, full bottom lip, big eyes, but I knew he was right. I nodded slowly, defeated. “Okay…”

He exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath for years, then gently released my wrists. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, glanced down at his very obvious problem, and muttered, “Give me a second.”

He leaned in, pressed one soft kiss to my forehead, then disappeared into the bathroom. A second later, I heard the shower turn on. My brain immediately pictured him under the spray, water flowing over those abs,

hand wrapped around that thick cock, stroking himself while thinking about me, groaning my name low in his throat. I squeezed my thighs together and whimpered.

I wanted to stay awake. Wait for him. Tease him when he comes back all wet and frustrated. But Atlas was right (annoyingly always is). I was drunk. Exhausted. My limbs felt like lead. Despite every effort to keep my eyes open, they slowly drifted shut, lashes fluttering against my cheeks.

If I couldn’t have him right now… I damn well hoped I’d have him in my dreams.