Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(107)

“Yes.” I don’t deny it. I know I can’t.

He curses under his breath and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. His hair is damp, the sides shorter and the long top strands pushed back. He is drop-dead gorgeous. I’m a goner. “Lily, focus,” he says, his large hand holding my jaw. “Can you erase that image from your mind? Please?”

My lips press closed. No. I can’t. Never.

He drops his hand and steps even closer. My breath hitches. Oh my God. Slowly, he fishes my button through my jean shorts. I watch in captivation. Once he loosens them, he lowers the zipper and reaches his hand down the front of my shorts.

I hold onto his arm. Yes. Please.

He cups my panties, feeling how soaked I am. I press my head to his firm chest and let out a whimper. Please. More.

This is torture. Sheer torture. “Harder,” I whisper. It’s my own fault. I was the Peeping Tom who couldn’t walk away.

He stays still. “How long were you standing there?” he asks, practically reading my mind.

“I don’t know.”

“Lily.”

“Like three minutes.”

“I was only doing it for three minutes.”

“Oh. Maybe shorter then.” Lies.

“Sure.”

He makes a move to retract his hand, and I cling to his wrist, forcing him still. Before he can say something about it, I blubber out, “It wasn’t porn, right? Like live porn?”

I glance up and see the concern flash in his amber irises. I’m not sure if it’s from the fact that I’ve taken his arm hostage or my confession.

“It wasn’t porn, love. I’m your fiancé.”

Relief lifts my shoulders to a natural state.

“Can I have my hand back?” he asks.

Oh. Yeah…I release my grip, and he pulls his hand away from the spot that craves him. My fingernails dig into my palms, resisting the desire to replace his touch with my own. Surrounded by T-shirts, hangers, and boxes of miscellaneous things, I should just go back…to something.

“I’m ugly,” Lo suddenly tells me.

“What?” I frown, staring up at him like that’s the most impossible thing of all things.

He rests his hands on my shoulders, a great deal of space between our bodies. “Just know how ugly I am, and maybe you’ll be turned off.”

That’s a strong maybe. “You’re ugly,” I say, trying to buy into his words. “So ugly.”

“Grotesque and smelly. Oh, God, you don’t even want to inhale around me, I smell so bad.” He wafts his hand in front of his face with a mock cringe.

I bite my lip, suppressing a smile. He smells really good actually. Like soap and citrus. “You stink,” I say.

“You are incredibly repulsed by me.”

“I’m repulsed by you,” I say, nodding my head, playing into it. Yeah. Sure. Repulsed.

“You can’t stand to look at me.” What? “And it even pains you to touch me.” No. I don’t like this game anymore. He must see the hurt on my face because his features shatter. “Lil…”

I shake my head and tears begin to sting my eyes. “I love you, Lo,” I say. “I don’t want to feel badly for being turned on by you, and I don’t want you to have to work me up into hating you for it.” This feels like another fight, when it shouldn’t be. We have about three weeks and then we can f*ck like rabbits again.

I rub my eyes and inhale a deep breath. “Let’s just forget about it, okay? I’ll be fine.”

I go to pass him and leave the closet, but he sidesteps and blocks me. That didn’t work. “Please don’t end a conversation with I’ll be fine,” he says, frustration in his voice. “I don’t want you to just be fine. You know that.”

My throat begins to swell closed. I don’t know what I feel anymore.

“Come here.” He motions to me, and I walk into his outstretched arms, sinking into his bare chest and warm embrace. I sniff a little bit, and when he draws back, his lips suddenly meet mine. He catches me completely off guard. Lately, he’s been stingy on the groping and kissing.

He doesn’t hold back.

His tongue tangles with mine, his hand cupping the back of my head with firm force. A pressure that I’ve missed. I melt beneath his weight, intoxicated by another person. Skin-to-skin. A pleasured noise scratches my vocal cords, and I reciprocate the kiss with extra intensity, probably too much.

My arms glue to him, my body bucking forward into his. Please…

He pulls away almost instantly. No. “Relax, love. Take a breath.” He strokes my hair kindly, and I hide my face in his chest, my body trembling against him.

“Are we going to do anything?” I wonder, hopefully. I am pulsing. Clenching. So very ready.

“I’m going to rub you some,” he admits. “But my cock isn’t coming out.”

I focus on the positives. He’s going to rub me. My heart starts to hammer in excitement. Wait… “You’re rubbing my clit, right? Not my boobs or something else?” I have to be clear, even if my red-rash returns with embarrassment. I’d rather not be disappointed.

His lips rise. “Your clit, yes.” The words from his voice have lit me up in a whole new way. My legs want to buckle. I do end up dropping, and he catches my waist and begins to lie me gently on the carpet of our closet. My head rests on a pile of clean socks.