Mad Addiction (Crazy Beautiful #2) (3 page)

“And how exactly do you plan to help?” I question flatly, trying to keep my curiosity from getting the best of me.

Ryan takes a moment to read me before leaning back against the table. “I have a proposition for you.”

I raise my eyebrow, intrigued.

He continues, “One night—tonight. You and me. Unattached, random, meaningless sex. We both go in knowing exactly what it’s meant to be—a brief fling to make each other feel good—and then tomorrow you can go back to waiting for Mr. Right and see that the world is still spinning like nothing ever happened.”

I consider his proposal, trying not to linger on the fact that Ryan Blake just propositioned
me
to have sex. “And how is that any different from what I was going to do with Dimples?”

“Well for starters, I don’t have a fucking sissy nickname like Dimples.” He grunts, and I can’t help but crack a small smile. “And secondly, you know I fully understand this arrangement going in. We know enough about each other that you can trust me, but we also don’t know each other well enough for it to be awkward.”

I don’t agree, but I don’t say no, either. Part of me is tired of waiting around for some faceless, nameless Mr. Right, and part of me (mainly the lower part) wants to know if all the rumors about Ryan are true.
Stupid horny hormones.

I also realize I’ve gotten used to rationalizing my abstinence as waiting for “
the one,
” but what if I’m really just scared? Ryan picks up on my hesitation. “Unless you still think this will somehow ruin you for your future husband . . .”

While he sounds sincere, the implied taunt gives me the courage to respond. I stand up straight, take a deep breath, and extend my hand. “Well, Blake, looks like you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Ryan

I
swear, going in, I had no intention of seducing Kelley Brooks tonight.

But fuck me, that’s sure as shit what I just did.

We shake on our deal and, without letting go of her hand, I lead her out of the room. I make my way toward the bathroom at the far end of the hall, knowing it’s set out of the way and has a lock. Let’s just say it’s not the first time I’ve been down this particular path.

We may not agree on a lot of things, but something about the way Kelley is as straightforward as me is refreshing. It doesn’t hurt she looks hot as hell, either. So why can’t we have a little fun? It’s only for tonight, which has been made perfectly clear.

My one non-negotiable rule about women is that they have to know the deal going in: sex is just sex, nothing more. There will be no cuddling. There will be no morning after phone calls. And there sure as fuck will be no second dates.

And no, this doesn’t mean I’m a heartless asshole, either. It just means I like to be up front. So yes, that might mean I come off as a dick, but at least I’m an honest dick. Which is why this deal with Kelley is perfect for both of us. We both know this isn’t going anywhere, but who says we can’t help each other out with a little temporary pleasure? Hell, better me than that douche with the dimples. Usually I wouldn’t care what—or who—a woman does, but considering Kelley and I are sort of friends, the thought of some random asshole taking advantage of her makes me want to punch something. At least I know I’ll be careful with her.

Given my history with addiction, I know to keep women at a distance. Sleeping together more than once leads to a pattern, a pattern leads to comfort, comfort leads to a relationship, and a relationship leads to dependence. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to issues of dependency, so I choose to remove temptation. It’s why I don’t let girls into my apartment and why I keep my personal life just that. Fucking
personal.

I glance back to make sure Kelley is keeping up in her tight dress and high heels. She looks confident, but nervous. I remember while this may not be new for me, it is for her. It’s just sex, but I don’t think a quickie against a bathroom sink is the best call on this one. Without breaking my stride, I turn left down the next hall and head for the door that leads outside. On the outskirts of the patio is a secluded storage house. I reach for the door, saying a silent
thank fucking god
that it’s unlocked, and pull Kelley inside. It’s cramped and dark, but beats being next to a toilet.

I close the door and latch it behind us, hesitating before making another move. She confirmed she’s not a virgin, but, if she’s only ever been with one guy and it’s been years, there’s still part of me that feels like an asshole. I just couldn’t stand to see the frustration and defeat in her eyes when she talked about waiting for “
the one.”
I barely know Kelley, but from the few times we’ve interacted I can tell she knows how to take care of herself, so why she lets a non-existent man dictate her sex life is beyond my fucking comprehension. She needs to loosen up and have a little harmless fun.

And I’m more than happy to be the one to help push her physical limits. If she wants me to, that is.

“What are you waiting for?” The patio lights outside provide just enough of a glow to make out Kelley’s features. Her eyes look anxious, but her voice is calm.

I take a small step toward her. “Just want to make sure you’re not having second thoughts.” Another step. “Because once we get started, there’s no going back.”

She releases a breath. “Jesus, Blake. I may not typically screw guys at weddings like this, but that doesn’t make me a fucking delicate flower.” She closes the gap between us and reaches up to loosen my tie before adding, “I promise I’m not going to break, so you don’t have to be gentle.”

You don’t have to tell me twice.

That’s all the confirmation I need to crash my lips onto hers, and she reciprocates with just as much enthusiasm. Before I know it, my jacket and shirt are being cast off, fast and frantic.

I reach behind her to unzip the dark purple dress that fits her like a glove, pushing it down her round shoulders, past the dip of her small waist, over the curve of her full hips, and down her long, toned legs. Soon she is standing before me in nothing but a pair of heels and a strapless bra, complete with matching panties. Her long brown hair is twisted up behind her head. A few loose pieces hang down the sides of her face. She pauses, letting me admire her. I let my gaze scan her body before settling on her eyes. One is blue and one is brown and they manage to say so much about her that it’s damn hard to look away. She stares at me with equal parts innocent lamb and devilish sex-kitten which drives me insane. I grab her and pull her to the floor over me. What better way to let her feel empowered than have her on top where she has full control?

Our tongues continue exploring each other’s mouths as I help her get the rest of my clothes off. I can taste the slightest hint of champagne on her sweet lips, and that alone is intoxicating enough to make me want more. She moves expertly over me and I wonder if the near-virgin thing was all an act. For a girl who doesn’t do this kind of thing, she sure as shit got the hang of it quickly. It’s as if I’ve rubbed a magic lamp that unleashed a majorly hot sex genie.

And I’m just the lucky fucking bastard who’s about to have all of his wishes come true . . .

I reach for my wallet to pull out a condom and move swiftly to get it on as she starts to grind her hips against mine. I push her underwear aside and swipe my fingers across her slit, making sure she’s wet and ready, before she slowly—but deliberately—slides herself onto me.

I lie still in order to give her time to adjust, but once I’m fully buried inside her she only needs to take one deep breath before rocking her hips back and forth, increasing the speed and rhythm of our bodies.

Her hands grip my shoulders tightly and I hold her steady at her waist. I push my hips to slam up into her. She closes her eyes and bites her lip. For a split second I think I might be hurting her, but then she tosses her head back and a soft—definitely pleasurable—moan escapes from the base of her throat. She moves her hips at a perfect pace, allowing me to meet each of her thrusts.

She rides me for what seems like both forever and not long enough before I feel her muscles clench and convulse as she falls apart with her hands against my chest, crying out in pleasure, which is surprisingly all it takes for me to join her a second later.

We lay still, the sound of our labored breathing the only noise in the air. I’m still trying to recover when Kelley gracefully pushes herself off me and begins to re-adjust her clothes. I sit up on my elbows, damp with sweat and unable to fully comprehend what the fuck just happened while Kelley shimmies back into her dress.

As she zips herself up she glances over at me and coolly says “Guess you were right, Blake. Sex can be fun
and
meaningless. So, thanks for that.”

In my head I know this means nothing, but for some reason the way she’s so easily able to grasp this casual thing like a seasoned pro makes me feel fucking weird. Something about the way she pressed her hands against my heart as she came felt . . . intimate. Or maybe her talk about true love and soul mates and all that crap got stuck in my head. Or maybe I feel guilty for being the one to pop her random-hookup cherry. I shake it off. Clearly she’s able to handle it like a champ, so no harm done, right?

Thankfully the blood has a chance to start flowing throughout the rest of my body again, and I’m able to respond with a cocky, “My pleasure.”

I hoist myself off the floor to clean up with the handkerchief from my jacket pocket and pull my own clothes back on. Not caring for the awkward silence, I break it by pretending to examine the ceiling before stating, “Huh. And look at that . . . the sky hasn’t fallen or anything.” She scoffs as I plaster on a big grin and reach for the door, nodding toward the main building. “Now come on, Brooks. Let’s get you back out there so you can meet Mr. Right.”

Kelley

Four Weeks Later

T
wo pink lines.

That’s all it takes to indicate how royally screwed I am.

Two. Pink. Fucking. Lines.

This is what I get for messing with fate and riding Ryan Blake in a storage shed like some sort of sex fiend.

It’s all his fault.

OK,
half
his fault.