Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(78)

My chin tilts up, my eyes closing as I fantasize about where this could head. He could take me here. Now. And never let go. He could rock until my hips buck and my thighs clench around his waist. I could be so full of Loren Hale that I’ll ache when he decides enough is enough.

His large hand caresses my cheek, holding my face with security. “Open your eyes,” he whispers.

My lids flutter, and I see him staring so intently, absorbing my tiny, sharp movements. Full of lust and power and soul. And then I begin to wake up from my dream. He’ll see what a fiend I am. He’ll realize how needy and gross I can become, and he’ll toss me away as a friend and as a lover. If I cross the line—if he fills this need inside of me—what will become of us?

What will become of me?

The fear washes me cold. And my breathing deepens in alarm. “Your father’s gone,” I remind him. There’s no reason to pretend anymore. Not when we’re alone.

His forehead wrinkles in a deep frown. He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head. “He may come back.” He won’t, I should tell him.

But his other hand disappears between our pelvises, and his fingers touch outside my long johns, to a spot that causes me to tremble beneath him and I let out a sharp gasp.

“You’re wet,” he breathes.

“Lo…” I start, shutting my eyes as I begin to drift off again.

“Look at me,” he says.

Tension wraps us in a tight, uncomfortable cocoon, and I succumb to this one wish, opening my eyes for the second time.

His two hands hold my face again, cupping me with intensity and purpose and deep passion. My parted lips nearly meet his.

“You need me,” he whispers, his breath filling my lungs.

Yes.

But the word stays buried beneath fear. I stare at him, drowning in his amber eyes.

He stares at me, swimming into my heady gaze.

It’s what we don’t say that hurts the most. Neither of us will speak to unwind the things that cause this friction to build and torment. So we watch and wait and listen to each other’s heavy breath.

Some choices define us. And in this moment, I make a decision that will change the course of our lives forever.

Or maybe, I just prolong the inevitable.

Either way, in my heart, I know this feels right.





BONUS MATERIAL





ADDICTED FOR NOW



Chapter One





{1}



Of all the days in the month, I have to be stuck in traffic on the one that means the most to me. I try not to badger Nola, my family’s driver, on our ETA to the house I share with Rose. Instead, I anxiously shift on the leather seat and rapidly text my sister.

Is he already there? Please say no, please tell me I haven’t missed his homecoming. I’m supposed to wait on the white wrap-around porch of our secluded house: many acres of lush land, a crystal blue pool, black shutters. The only thing it’s missing is the picket fence. I’m supposed to give him a tour of the cozy living room and the granite kitchen, leading him upstairs to the bedrooms where Rose and I sleep. He won’t be in one of the two guest rooms. Nope, he’ll be making residence in mine for the first time ever.

And maybe awkwardness will linger at the idea of sharing a bed and a bathroom day and night, at the idea of cohabitating beyond a kitchen. Our relationship will be one-hundred percent real, and there’ll be no nightcaps of bourbon or whiskey. I’ll be able to say don’t do that. And he’ll be able to grip my wrists, keeping me from compulsively climaxing until I pass out.

We’re supposed to help each other.

For the past three months, that’s what we’ve planned. And if I’m not there to greet him—then I’ve already messed up in some way. After three whole months of being physically apart, I thought I’d be able to get this right—the celebration of his return from rehab. On top of desperately wanting to touch him, for him to hold me in his arms, I feel a sudden wave of guilt. Please be late like me, is all I think.

The text pings, and I open the message with a knot tightening my stomach.

He’s unpacking – Rose

My face falls, and a lump rises to my throat. I can just picture his expression as he opened the car door, expecting me to fling my arms around him and start sobbing into his shoulder at his arrival. And I’m not there.

Was he upset? I text back. I bite my nails, my pinky starting to bleed a little. The habit has made my fingers look ghastly these past ninety days.

He seemed okay. How much longer will you be? – Rose

She must hate being alone with him. They’ve never been good friends since I chose to spend time with Lo more than I do with her. But she’s been kind enough to allow him to stay with us.

Maybe ten minutes. After I text her, I scroll through my contacts and land on Lo. I hesitate before I type another quick message. I’m so sorry. I’ll be there soon.

Five slow minutes pass with no response, and I’ve squirmed so much on the seat that Nola asks if she needs to stop somewhere so I can use the bathroom. I decline. I’m so nervous that my bladder probably won’t function properly anyway.

My phone buzzes in my hand, popping my heart from my ribcage. How was the doctor? – Lo

Rose must have clued him in on the reason for my absence. I scheduled my gynecologist appointment four months ago because she’s crazily booked, and I would have canceled if I thought I’d be able to nab an appointment sometime soon. But that’s doubtful. And it didn’t help that my gynecologist is near the University of Pennsylvania in Philly, not even close to Princeton where I now live. Having to drive back has eaten up all of my time.