Atticus Underwear Novels & Stories

I shrug my shoulders playfully. "Okay now your just being a brat, " I feel Atticus pull me towards him, I start to squeal, "Wait! Wait! The dress!" I shout as he starts to pull me in the water. "You better start stripping baby," he chuckles. Once I feel the water it nips at my skin, "OH HELL NO!" I try to run back to shore after feeling the freezing cold water, but Atticus grabs me, my feet lift of the ground, "You better hold your breath!" he shouts before taking me with him underwater.

Atlas chuckles, going to pull the dress over my head, stopping when I shake my head violently, bile rising at the scent of Brady and my blood on the vile piece of clothing. Atlas looks at the dress in his hands, sniffs it once, and neatly tosses it into the bin next to the bed. He reaches down and pulls a suitcase from under the bed. He unzips it, and pulls out two of his giant t-shirts, as well as underwear, socks and a pair of pants.

“And that is why we remain highly exclusive.” And then, just as the atmosphere settled into fragile accord, her expression shattered. “Oh, my goodness! We completely forgot to collect any attire for Atticus,” she exclaimed, placing a delicate hand to her forehead in genuine consternation. “We focused entirely on the women’s wardrobe. Should we arrange to return first thing tomorrow morning?” I offered her a deliberately slow, amused wink. “That is all entirely managed. Manager Andrew, under my explicit instruction, packed appropriate outfits for him. Fortunately, I am rather adept at sizing, so nothing can possibly be wrong. I secured three complete ensembles for my mate.”

“It’s a boy. It is why you eat so much.” A smile blooms on the corner of my lips. “Be careful.” She nods and I start down the stairs, dagger in hand. I hadn’t bothered with the billowing skirts tonight. What I have on can be kindled to the human equivalent of an underwear, but in Neredia, it still would be too many clothes. The red, translucent skirt stops a few inches above my ankle and it is by far, the most comfortable thing I own here. And obscene. It had been meant for Atticus’s eyes only. A gift before the gift of death. One I’d known would push him to the liquor he kept not too far from his bed.

I spit it into the sink, watching the blue swirl go down the drain before rinsing my mouth with a quick sip of water. It's not ideal but it'll do. Atticus's shirt waits on the counter where I left it. I pull it over my head, and the soft cotton falls over me, swallowing me whole. The hem brushes my thighs. It smells like him, leather and smoke, and it's so much more than any of my own nightshirts. I reach for my underwear, but the dampness between my fingers makes me pause. Yeah... that's definitely not sweat and there's no way in hell those are going back on.