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.