Addict
Copyright 2014 by Rachael Orman
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Addict is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
Acknowledgements
As always, I owe everything to my one and only, my husband. And to the two little girls who are wonderful at turning my hair gray when they aren’t making me pull it out by the handful.
Jacqui - As always the first to get my book, the first to give me support, the first to start messaging on me for more… Love ya lady!
Editing Juggernaut - Thanks for the amazing work you do helping me get my book ready for readers!
Phycel Designs - Amazing cover! Absolutely beautiful and exactly what I wanted but couldn’t quite put into words.
Aerii/Andrea/Adrian/AJ - Whatever I feel like calling you today.. Thanks for kicking me in the butt and making me keep writing even when I was having a down day.
Chapter 1
Alix
Four nights a week, I sat at my desk off the lobby of the five-star hotel I worked at, waiting for him. It never failed; he always showed up.
Flipping my wrist over, I checked my watch. Almost show time. Sitting alone at my desk, I separated my legs, forcing my skirt to climb higher up my thighs. The sensation of the satin lining sliding over my nylon thigh-highs had me biting my lower lip. Excitement pulsed through me, growing with each second that passed. I was ready for him. Just like every night I knew he came in, I had slipped my panties into my purse so I was bare under my skirt.
While I couldn’t see the front door from my office window, I didn’t need to. Every female head snapped toward the door when he arrived. He simply owned the room from the moment he appeared. From the swagger in his step to the way his observant eyes scanned the area showed he was all he appeared to be and more. His broad shoulders, thick arms and sexy smile only added to his appeal.
As he stepped into my view, I slid my hand under my skirt. Skimming my fingers against my bare, damp flesh, I watched as he approached the front desk. The girl behind the counter jumped to help him, flashing him a smile when he leaned his elbows against the counter. The back of his finely-tailored suit stretched over his flexing muscles while he talked to her.
From my viewpoint I could only see part of his face, but I had watched him enough to have every detail of his face memorized. The crinkle of his cheeks meant he was smiling at her. My teeth dug into my bottom lip as I remembered the times I’d been lucky enough to get a full view of that smile. My fingers dipped between my swollen, needy lips to find the hard, nerve-filled nub nestled there.
As he shifted his feet, his slacks tightened against one thigh and his ass giving me the exact material I needed. My fingers circled and teased my clit. My eyes zeroed in on his well-manicured hands, which were resting on the counter. They were too far away to get a good look at, but it was easy to imagine it was one of those hands between my thighs. Licking my lips, I fought to keep my face passive in case anyone else happened to glance in my direction.
His fingers were long, sensual and always well kept. Most men didn’t care about hands, but he did — I did. As he picked up the key card from the counter between two fingers and nodded at the girl behind the desk, I pushed two of my own fingers deep into my pussy. It clenched tightly around my digits as I drank in the sight of him walking.
The top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone, with no tie, no chest hair peeking out — just smooth, muscular skin to feast upon. He strode toward the elevators - toward me.
Thrusting my fingers, I couldn’t help but focus on the movement of his hips. Each step only accentuated the slight bounce of his cock behind his dress slacks. Not that his short, light brown hair, brilliant blue eyes or kissable lips took away from my fantasy, but it was the way even his stride was sexy — the way every single thing about him controlled the very air I breathed.
He was my addiction. A man I’d never even spoken to. A man whose name I didn’t know. I didn’t need to know more about him. I was already in deeper than I wanted to admit. Even after three years of not giving into the urges of my addiction to sex and masturbation, there was no thought of not touching myself when I laid eyes on him. Not that he knew who I was or what I did while watching him. That was okay, though. I didn’t need to lose my job.
When he stopped to wait for an elevator, I sped up my thrusting, brushing my thumb against my clit as I moved. Biting down on my bottom lip, I held back the moan that threatened to burst from my lips as my release grew close. Just as the orgasm crashed over me, the man lifted his head and locked eyes with me. Unable to stop my fingers, I eased the rest of my release while his eyes burned into mine.
There was no way he could have known what I was doing, but the quirk of one eyebrow made me think differently. I had been careful, but somehow he’d caught me.
His eyes dared me to look away, but I couldn’t. Not even when his tongue dragged over his bottom lip, heat flashing in his eyes.
A ding signaled the elevator’s arrival and broke our semi-intimate moment.
Turning, he stepped into the elevator, only to turn back around to watch me as the doors closed. The movement of his large hand drew my attention to the front of his slacks as he adjusted his very noticeable, hard cock. My eyes snapped back up to his to find a sexy half-smile on his face. He had done it on purpose. He wanted me to see that he was turned on, that he knew what I had done. Closing my eyes, I withdrew my hand from my skirt and took a deep, calming breath, my heart racing for an entirely different reason than it had been. When I opened my eyes, the doors were closed and the elevator had whisked away the man I dreamt about.
Even before I could come down from the high I got from getting off, I felt shamed. It was wrong. I knew it was. I didn’t even know the man. Sure, this time had been different than the many times in the past. He’d noticed me, but I was still at work. I shouldn’t even think about sex at work, but I couldn’t stop myself. I knew as soon as I got home I would have to do it again. That’s if I could wait that long. I might take a break before I was done at work and get off in the bathroom.
It was a compulsion. It was an addiction. The path wasn’t new to me. I’d already been through the program. I’d been ‘sober’ or ‘on the mend’ or whatever you wanted to call it for three and a half years. During that time, I had only had sex with one man. Not even masturbating during that time had been a challenge, but I’d done it.
Everything changed when I first saw him, right after my three-year anniversary. It had started as just staring at him from across the room while thinking every naughty thing I wanted to do to a man like him. Slowly, it had progressed into what it was— out of control compulsions. At least five times a day, I got off while thinking of one person, one man. I didn’t want anyone else. No one else even made me think of sex.
Why him? I’d thought about it many times, but in the end it didn’t matter. My body wanted his in a way that I’d never encountered in almost thirty years of my life. No matter how I tried to fight it, I gave in before I e
ven realized it.
Running my opposite hand through the wavy brown hair that fell to the middle of my back, I knew I needed to get my mind off him and back on work, or I would be fingering myself in the bathroom before long. The only time I ever did it at my desk was when I knew he would be around. Even though I had memorized everything about him, my orgasm was always better when I could see him.
It had been hard not to make a sound when I’d come, his eyes taking it all in —especially knowing he’d been hard. I’m sure he knew what was I was doing — at least had some idea — or why else would he have had a hard-on? Fuck, thinking about how large his dick looked even across the room, hiding behind slacks, made my mouth water and my pussy clench. As much as women liked to think there were men walking around packing serious heat, most weren’t. Most were just average, despite what they tried to claim — I would know, from the sheer number of men I’d been with — but I knew his had definitely been big.
Someone clearing their throat had me crossing my legs and turning my chair. In the door way stood a man and a woman in evening wear. I waved them in to the two vacant seats on the opposite side of my desk.
How silly of me to forget where I was, or the fact that I had an appointment due to show up. Being an event coordinator for the hotel kept me busy most days. There was always something or another that needed to be followed up with, an event to get set up, people to meet with. Thankfully, I didn’t do the weddings. I had a single staff member that worked under me and that was all she did. Weddings were dreadfully boring and I was happy to avoid having to see stupidly happy couples together when more than half of them would end up divorced and hating each other in a few years. However, during the busy season, I would have to help her out because it became more than she could handle.
The appointment didn’t take long. We only had to go over a few final details for a birthday party being thrown for the couple’s oldest child. A huge twenty-first birthday party for a bunch of spoiled brats. I had never been so lucky to get anything half as extravagant as what they had planned for the kid and his friends, but then again, my parents didn’t have the money that these parents obviously did.
I was almost thirty. It’d been a long time since I’d lived at home. In fact, my twenty-first had probably been the last birthday I actually celebrated. I didn’t have friends to throw me a party, which was okay since I didn’t want one anyway. Who wants to celebrate getting old? I was single, no kids, and running out of my so called ‘prime’ years. I didn’t really mind though. What would change in another ten years? Nothing. I’d probably still be at the same job and still single. People like me just didn’t get married. Sex addicts never fully recovered. It would always be something I struggled with.
Not to mention that even imagining the fun conversation that would have to take place with a man had me groaning. Seriously, who wants to say, “I might start compulsively wanting to have sex with you or myself”? Nope, not me. It was embarrassing enough to have to deal with it on my own. The only reason I had even realized that I had an issue in the first place had been because I’d gotten fired for masturbating repeatedly at work and watching porn. Not that it had changed anything. I’d crashed after that. Completely hit rock bottom. I spent hours alone playing with myself or finding men to sleep with. That was, until my landlord threatened to evict me if I didn’t start paying rent. Sounds crazy, but addiction is addiction is addiction. I lost sight of the real world and what was considered “okay” and “normal”. Orgasms had become all that was important to me. There was no one around to help me see what my life had become, not when addiction had first taken over. There still wasn’t anyone that cared or would even notice in my life.
I had a mother, a father and a brother around somewhere. We weren’t close. I’d go months without hearing from any of them and that was fine by me. We didn’t even get along enough to pretend to care about each other.
The only person I had to rely on was myself, and that was how I wanted it. I didn’t get lonely. I always had something to do, somewhere to be. Mostly I worked long hours, slept a lot and vegged at home, but it wasn’t hard to find something to do on the rare occasion that I wanted to get out for a bit. It was, after all, my job to know what was happening around town so I could plan other events around and between. I didn’t care to go out and party. It was easier to stay away from temptation when I was by myself, away from sexy people and sexy thoughts — except the one person who came to me when I was at work. That was one I had a hard time escaping. Maybe that’s why I had such a hard time fighting it.
The ding of the elevator brought me back to where I was after yet again getting lost in my thoughts. I looked up. It was the suit man, only he wasn’t in a suit. He was in a pair of sexy jeans and a tight-fitting t-shirt. Another standard for him. He always arrived in a suit, but left in a different suit or jeans a few hours later. I had no idea where he was getting clothes from, since he never had a bag of any sort with him when he arrived or left. He never had company with him either, not men or women.
I had closely watched him trying to figure out what his story was, but he never gave anything away. Never talked to anyone in the lobby. Never met anyone outside. It was the strangest thing. He’d come in, stay for a couple of hours, then leave in a different set of clothes, only to arrive the next night in a suit again. At some point he had to come back when I wasn’t there. I didn’t work all night. It was the only solution I could come up with, anyway.
Many times I had debated about clocking out and staying after just to see if he came back. I had even done it one night, but after working a ten-hour shift, I only lasted two hours before I couldn’t wait any longer and had abandoned the idea. I knew it was wrong, yet the desire to know more about him was so strong, I would most likely do it. That is, if I didn’t finally get in touch with my doctor and admit that I had relapsed. I didn’t want to call him. I didn’t want to have to admit it. I knew part of his solution would be to get a different job, one where I wouldn’t have to see the man who drove me crazy. That was something I wasn’t ready to do. Seeing him was what made my mundane life a tiny bit exciting, gave me something to look forward to.
When I looked at my life in that light, it made me realize that I really needed to get out more, needed to find something to help keep my mind occupied and away from that man. Jennifer at the front desk would probably want to go out sometime. Plus she could tell me more about the mystery man, since she was the one who always checked him in and talked to him.
Or maybe spending time with her wouldn’t be such a good idea.. Every day when I watched him, I felt myself get more drawn under his spell. It wasn’t healthy, but still I couldn’t stop myself from yearning to get closer. Knowing more. Like what his voice sounded like, what he smelled like, what the brush of his hands would feel like, the rush of his breath against my neck. I wanted it all.
Chapter 2
John
The night had started out just like any other Wednesday night. After work, I checked into my hotel room while being hit on by the blonde behind the counter — Jennifer, I believe her name was. She always worked Wednesday nights and she tried to get me to ask her out every single week. It didn’t matter what she hinted she was into or wanted to do to me. She was too plain in looks and too slutty in personality for me. I’m sure many men wanted her with those perky tits, plump lips and bleached hair, but it was the way she presented herself that was a complete turn-off to me. Perky and giggly did nothing for me. She was a girl — maybe not in age, but in personality. I didn’t have time for girls. I didn’t even have time for women lately.
My job kept me too busy for the games that came with dating. If I needed release, I knew where I could go. The Scene. It belonged to a buddy from college; I stopped by when the urges became too much to ignore. No boring date, no smooshing, no cuddling. In and out, needs met for both parties and then we went our separate ways. It was simple, it was clean, and it was exactly how I liked it.
When I wasn?
??t working, I was indulging in my addiction. My job and my addiction were contradictions to each other — I’d lose the former if anyone found out about the latter.
My job. Sex therapist. I’d been told I was a pervert or disgusting. If I wasn’t being insulted, I was questioned — how could I stand to watch other people have sex? What made me want to do such a gross job? Did I get off from watching and instructing other people? When all was said and done, most people simply didn’t understand what I did and didn’t give me two seconds to explain it. Sure, I watched people I knew little about do the most intimate things, but I also saved marriages from complete disaster when it was embarrassment or touchy topics that were being avoided. Most of the time it wasn’t hard to help find the spice and heat that faded in relationships. Love is driven by lust. All it takes is a little lust to spark love…and as long as that love was still somewhere within, it wasn’t hard to find that lust again. If you knew where to look that is.
Did I personally believe in love? No. Not at all. It’s just the crap I told my clients and they always ate it up. All I needed was control. Being in control of an intimate situation was more powerful and satisfying than if I’d been in the middle of the actual act. I didn’t need intimacy to be satisfied — just control.
Not only needed, but craved —thrived on— having it. I did nothing without thinking of how to make sure that I would be in control, that I would be the one making the choices.
A wink and a nod at Jennifer, to let her down nicely, as I gave a short wave with the key card she’d just placed in front of me. I could feel the eyes on me.
I knew exactly who it was that was watching me. She watched me every time I walked into the hotel. Little did she know that I watched her back. I followed her. I craved to one day get my hands on her. The timing had to be just right though.