All Chapters of Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

[Cordelia]It felt so good to slam the door and walk away from all of that nonsense. Standing in the same room while Atlas continued to make excuses for Angelica was the last straw. I had told them what had happened, what I had suspected, fears I was afraid of voicing because I was worried about how Atlas would receive it only to discover it didn't matter anyway. Atlas doesn't believe me. Or he doesn't believe that I know what I see and hear with my own eyes and ears.I'm not sure what would be worse--him thinking I'm a liar or him thinking I'm foolish. And Atlas--so much for not caring if others see us, or about the world and what it might think of us and our relationship. As soon as things got difficult, he hid behind his usual "just business" mindset and used it as an excuse to not follow through. I'm not sure why I thought things would be different between us. One beautiful night together isn't enough to change a lifetime of bad habits. I should have told my mother off and hu

[Atlas]Fueled by the need to find her, to tell her how wrong I was, I race out of the building and onto the street. I don't have anything on me but the clothes on my back and my phone tucked away in a pocket.With my rumpled jacket and hair, I could be anyone on the street. Nobody would mistake me for being myself. I wasn't billionaire Atlas Steele, I was just an ordinary guy desperately looking for his pregnant wife on the streets of LA."Damn it, Cordelia," I curse as I feel the wind pick up and remember that she left the house without a coat. "Where the hell did you go?""Hola senor," A sweet woman pulling in her laundry calls from her balcony. "You lost?""Un poquito," I hold up my fingers to express that I am a little bit turned around. "I am looking for my wife. I think she came this way. Very pretty, very pregnant."I make a round gesture over my belly and she laughs playfully, amused by my poor attempts at pantomime. "La bonita prenada mujer," she nods. "I see her, senor." S

[Cordelia]When we stumble into the lobby of the Steele Imperial Hotel and Spa, I was expecting Atlas to go straight to the manager and demand the Presidential Suite. I was expecting the concierge to bow when Atlas walked in and offer us the room on a silver platter. Atlas is, after all, the owner and even if he weren't, Atlas Steele tends to get that kind of treatment wherever he goes. He just has to give people his winning smile and flash his unlimited platinum card.What I wasn't expecting was to be shunned. Not again. Not like before. But when I saw the snarl on the face of the concierge as he finally notices us waiting at the front desk, and he marches up to us like a man on a mission, I know that's exactly what is going to happen.This man intends to kick us out. As he gets closer I see he is the same guy who stopped me all those months before, thinking I was a homeless woman instead of the wife of Atlas Steele."Excuse me, sir," he looks me up and down, "Miss. We think you mi

[Cordelia]He is standing in front of me, water beading down his chest, outlining each muscle as it makes its path down his body, trailing all the way down to where my hands rest on the waistband of his pants. I have never taken this kind of initiative with him, taking over, demanding what I want. Our sexual relationship is still far too new. I still have so much to learn. "Are you going to take what you want," he challenges me, raising one eyebrow in provocation.I unbuckle his belt. "Only if you are good." I tease. "Maybe I'll make you suffer first."My hand rubs the hardness of his dick outlined sharply on the wet slacks as they cling to his body. He closes his eyes in pleasure, his mouth opening as I stroke him slowly, giving the tip of him extra attention. He moans, placing his hands on the wall above me to steady himself as I continue to pleasure him through the slick layer of cloth. He begins to rock his hips against my hand, increasing the rate and depth of each stroke, usin

[Cordelia]Propped up on pillows covered in silk, I try to remain still and calm as Atlas lays his head on my belly for about the hundredth time today. When he isn't feeding me, kissing me, or making love, he likes to have conversations with our son. "You are making your mama dizzy with all that moving, little guy," he kisses a spot where our baby's foot is pressed up against the skin hard enough to show a little dent. Usually, it's an elbow to the bladder when the little guy moves, but when Atlas speaks to him, he floats to his father's voice. "I think he hears you," I play with Atlas' hair, which I had never realized was curly until I got him alone without all of his hair care products. Without his mousse and pomade putting every hair in its place, he has a beautiful mound of softly curling blonde hair. "Do you think he'll have your curls," I ask casually as my fingers trace the outlines of his hair. "I know he'll have your chin. All you Steele boys have that strong chin and I thi