The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (84 page)

“I can’t do that,” I reply, briefly glancing down at my raging hard-on that’s tenting the towel. I lift my head. “Look, I want to fuck you, but I want to know you, Brooke. I can’t do a meaningless fuck. That’s not me. And I don’t want that with you. Why don’t we get dressed and go get something to eat. Talk a little. I want to know about you.”

She stares at me for several seconds. The silence between us grows deafening.

“You’re serious.”

“Very.” I straighten my spine. My chest suddenly feels tight. “Go out with me.”

Blinking several times, she turns away. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She snatches her clothes off the sink. “You’re actually shooting me down right now.”

“I’m not . . .”

“This is unbelievable,” she mumbles. She pulls on her pants, then slips her top over her head, leaving her bra and panties off.

I don’t try and stop her. If I am going to walk around the city with Brooke without an erection, she’s going to need to be clothed.

Of course, knowing she’s wearing nothing underneath those fucking pants could cause a bit of an issue. And her nipples . . . God, this might be torture.

Her hand turns the doorknob. “Thanks for the class. It was surprisingly fun.” She storms out into my living space, leaving me behind.

“Hold up a second. Let me get dressed.”

I head for my dresser, still pressing the towel against my cock. Brooke takes to the stairs without looking back at me.

“Brooke!”

She disappears to the first level.

“Fuck.” I don’t bother drying off. Grabbing a pair of boxers, I tug them on, then pull some shorts out of the drawer. Water drips down my face to my neck. I wipe it from my eyes.

She’s not waiting for me. She doesn’t want to go for a walk and let me find out about her. She feels rejected, which is entirely my fault. But with Brooke . . . even if I give in and fuck her for the sake of fucking her, I’ll feel like the biggest tosser on the planet. Sure, it’ll probably be one of the hottest romps of my life, maybe even
the
hottest, but then it’ll be over. She clearly won’t want anything else to do with me.

“I’ll even wave to you if I see you out.”

Wave to me? Fuck that. I want a lot more than a bloody wave from her.

My feet beat against the wood as I dash down the stairs, only to step out into an empty studio. I swing the door open and move outside, hoping to catch Brooke, but the footpath is quiet. A street lamp flickers in the distance as I dart my eyes left, then right. The bakery is dark across the narrow street that separates my business from hers.

I push a hand through my wet hair. Frustration burns the back of my throat.

I refused her.

I refused the knockout I can’t stop thinking about.

I drop my head back and stare up at the stars. My groin throbs.

Blue balls? Can’t be all that bad, can it?

Blue balls are, in fact, the worst fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Brooke might as well have taken a jackhammer to my nuts before she stormed out. I feel ready to explode. My legs barely get me up the stairs before I’m whipping my dick out and squeezing it roughly.

The pain is indescribable. The urge to fuck burns like a wild-fire in my veins.

Even as I move my hand over my dick in the silence of my loft, frantically chasing my orgasm, I’m getting no relief. Everything is so sensitive. I squeeze harder, stroke faster. It hurts to do this. It hurts not to. I want to scream.

I need to come. Goddamn, I need to come.

I’m sure I could wait this out. It can’t stay like this, can it?

That unnerving fear has me reaching down and cupping my balls with my free hand. I roll them between my palm. My thoughts race to Brooke standing outside my shower, leaning against the wall, pressed
against
the wall. Her tits, her arse, her smooth pussy I want to nuzzle with my mouth.

My breath hitches.
Fuck! Finally!

With a strangled groan, I come all over my hand and stomach. The ache between my thighs dissipates.

A familiar satisfaction settles over me, but will it last? Will I ever be truly satisfied until I have Brooke in the ways I
want
to have her? Which includes every filthy act of depravity I can think of.

I sag against the mattress as I reach for my discarded towel from earlier and wipe myself clean.

My eyes close. I listen to the beginnings of a storm in the distance. The low rumble of thunder.

I hope she isn’t walking home.

Sleep evades me most of the night as my mind refuses to settle. My body is spent from class, from my orgasm, but I’m restless. My cock slowly grows hard against the sheets. I ignore it and roll over, rubbing it into the mattress.

The morning sun rises too early. Light burns across my eyelids, and I make a mental note to pick up curtains or some shit to keep my room dark when I need it. I hope to God this isn’t any indication how every sexual encounter involving Brooke, fantasy or not, leaves me.

I’m not going to be able to teach six classes a day if I’m up half the night.

Coffee. I need a fuckton of coffee.

I get dressed and head outside, pulling on my sunnies. The footpath is wet from last night’s rain, and the air is a bit sticky. I avoid the puddles as I head south on Fayette, my eyes glancing back in the direction of the bakery until I can no longer see it clearly. A little shop on the corner across the street grabs my attention, and I jog between cars and step up onto the curb.

I pull the door open and step inside, inhaling a lungful of the delicious scent.

My glasses get pushed back on top of my head. I freeze. A body I’d have to be dead not to recognize stands a few feet ahead of me, leaning against the small counter as she waits for her order.

Her perky arse sways as she moves her hips to the beat of the song playing softly overhead.

I move closer, smiling. “Brooke.”

Her head whips around, then the rest of her turns to face me.

My eyes rake over her tiny form.

She’s in jeans again, tight on her hips and legs. Her red shirt dips low in the front to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. And on her feet, runners, an old pair of Nike’s.

Her hair is up, pulled back into a dark, messy knot, with a few pieces framing her face.

She raises an eyebrow. She looks agitated. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

I almost laugh at her suggestion, but decide against it when she shows no sign of her question being a joke.

“What? No, I like coffee. I’m here for coffee. This was purely a coincidence.” I take a step toward her. “You left last night. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk,” she laughs. “There’s that word again. Did you have fun
talking
after I left?”

My brow furrows. “Uh . . . to who?”

She eliminates the space between us. Her hand flattens against my chest as she stands on her toes to get as close to my ear as possible. I inhale her perfume. Some sort of berry scent. It’s light and sweet.

“Did you finish getting off after I was gone?” she whispers.

My hands form to her hips. I drop my head, brushing my lips against her hair. “Yeah. I had to.”

“Mm. So did I. You were amazing in my head. I came all over my fingers.”

“Fuck,” I groan. Not meaning to, my fingers squeeze her hips, hard enough to possibly bruise her. I move my hands to her back.

God, she feels good against me.

“Me too. I . . .” My words trail off.

Am I really doing this? Am I about to confess to this woman how hard I came last night in the middle of a fucking coffee shop?”

She leans back to look up at me. “It’s a shame we couldn’t have handled that shit together. A damn shame.” She slaps her hand against my chest and spins back around, leaving me reeling.

I grab her elbow. I’m not done with this conversation. “Hey.”

“What?” Her voice sounds distant. She barely turns her head to acknowledge me.

The bloke behind the counter carries over four coffees before I can get her attention again.

“Here you go, Brooke. Sorry about the wait.”

She steps forward. I move quickly to grab the carrier, being sure not to completely shove her out of the way in the process. Only the side of my arm bumps against hers.

“I got these. Did you pay?” I ask, reaching blindly with my other hand for my wallet.

“What?” Eyebrows pinched together in confusion, she tries to grab the carrier. Her height difference from mine doesn’t allow for it. She really is tiny without those heels.

With an exasperated huff, she jumps with her hand in the air. “Yes, I paid. And can you give me that please, you big tree?”

“I said I got it. Come on.”

“Come on? I thought you were getting coffee.”

I shrug, looking down at her. “I’ll come back.”

Her hand slaps against her thigh. With a shake of her head, she moves toward the door. “Fine. But there’s a crack in the sidewalk and I’m not going to tell you where it is. If you fall, that’s on you.”

I stifle my laugh, following behind. “Fair enough.”

We walk side by side on the busy footpath. People move in a blur around us. Brooke keeps her arms tightly crossed against her chest and her gaze locked ahead of her. Mine wanders between the path ahead and her profile.

“How tall are you?” I ask, breaking up the silence after only standing it for a whole ten seconds.

She looks over at me. “I don’t know. 5’2”, I think. Why?”

“Just curious. You threw me off with your shoes the other day, when we first met.”

“Mm.” She turns her head.

My mouth curls up in the corner. “You were right about blue balls. Bloody awful, that was. I thought I was dying.”

A small laugh erupts from her. She quickly conceals it with a cough. “Well, that was all your doing.”

“Actually, it’s yours. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“
Thinking
about me,” she repeats, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “But, you don’t want to
do
anything with me. You turned me down.”

“I want to do a lot with you.”

I wait until she glances in my direction before I continue. Her eyes slowly reach mine.

“A lot, Brooke. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about doing things with you. I just want to know you first. Spend some time with you. Like this. I like talking to you.”

“Crack.”

“What’s that?”

She points ahead of us. “Crack. Right there. Watch out.”

I look down, careful to step over the jagged edge of the concrete that protrudes a good five centimeters from the flat plane.

Fuck. That would’ve been one hell of a fall.

“I thought you weren’t going to warn me,” I ask through a grin.

She shrugs. “I don’t feel like going back for more coffee. You would’ve spilled it.”

“Ah, okay. I thought maybe it was because you care about my well-being, or something. My mistake.”

She stops walking. I look back over my shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Are you married? Is that it?”

Confusion pulls my brows together. “Do you think I’m married?”

When have I given her the impression that I was married?

She hits me with a sturdy glare as she marches directly for me. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking. You aren’t wearing a ring, but not all married guys wear their rings, especially ones who like to jerk off to the idea of other women. Is that you?”

I stare at her, long and hard. Is she fucking serious with this? I grab her hand and pull her in the small alleyway between two businesses.

“What are you doing?”

With a hand to her hip, I guide her back against the brick wall. Chest to chest, I look down at her, trying to contain my anger at this bullshit back and forth while I balance these stupid fucking coffees.

“Do you really think I’m married? Is that the kind of man you think I am? One who cheats on his wife?”

She tilts her head up. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. It wouldn’t be the first time some married guy tried something with me. Although, I doubt any of them would’ve rejected me the way you did. Was that your guilty conscience talking last night?”

What the fuck?

I bend down, inching closer. “I am not married. If I was, I never would’ve invited you to my class because I wouldn’t have been able to keep my eyes off you. Fuck, Brooke, the way we flirted that first day, that wouldn’t have happened. I told you I’m not interested in a quick fuck. I don’t do that anymore. I’m not some young kid fucking around. I want more than that.” My hand slides higher on her waist, fitting to her curves. “Give me more.”

She blinks heavily, then looks back up at me with round, doleful eyes. Her head shakes ever so slightly. “Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was last night? How awkward I felt? I was naked, Mason, and you rejected me.” A rush of air pushes past her lips, blowing against mine. “You
rejected
me.”

Fuck. I hurt her. I hadn’t meant to. I would never.

“Brooke.”

Her gaze lowers to a spot on my shirt.

The pain in her voice, paired with that wounded look she’s trying to hide from me tears through my reserve.

I tilt my head down. She lifts hers at my sudden movement, gasping as our mouths slide together, searing into a kiss. It’s hot and wet, almost painful as we both reveal our desperation. My body presses her to the brick. She parts her lips with a groan as her warm hands wrap around my neck, fingers twisting in my hair and tugging. My tongue moves into her mouth, tasting, gliding against hers. I palm her arse, wishing I had use of both hands right now so I could properly do this.

She sucks on my lip, then bites it, smiling when I bend further with a moan.

“You’re a good kisser,” she says against my mouth. “Really good. Must be the accent.”

I laugh, licking along the seam of her lips, swallowing her taste. Savoring it.

“I want you, Brooke. Do you see now?”

“Mm. I think.” She tugs the hair at the base of my neck when I try and lean away. “No, wait, don’t stop.”

I drop my forehead to hers. Her hand relaxes.

“Do you want more?” I whisper, staring at her mouth, her eyes, the cute little wrinkle in her nose.