Love Addicts Anonymous: Part One

by J. C. Reed

  Sorry, that came out wrong.

  I’m not supposed to call them crazies, obviously. Not least because someone might throw me into the same category.

  In case you’ve been wondering, yes, I fucked the secretary yesterday. During my flight from Las Vegas to North Carolina, I also hooked up with an air stewardess.

  I can still smell her scent on my fingers as they thrust in and out of her tight little pussy.

  With today’s accomplishment completed, there’s only one spot left in my 365-day non-stop sex calendar.

  It’s such a shame you can’t hear the tone of my voice.

  The excitement. The fear. The anguish.

  I’m so close to fulfilling my goal that I can’t let anyone ruin it.

  One woman.

  I breathe in and out as I press my clammy palms against the windowsill.

  Compared to the 364 before her, I want this one to be special.

  6

  VICKY

  * * *

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter, frozen to the spot.

  The guy in front of me is standing in front of a bathroom mirror, his naked ass on full display.

  His back is rippled with muscles; his chest is broad, and even from my sideways position in the doorway, I can see the well-defined six-pack beneath the taut skin.

  My gaze skims over his broad biceps and lingers on the tattoo on the back of his neck. It looks like a snake engrossed in a battle with a lion. It’s powerful and fascinating in a scary kind of way. As though he’s one or the other and fighting his demons that are about to come to life.

  His back is sexy as hell, but I think the most beautiful part of him is his ass. It looks like it’s been carved out of marble.

  Oh, wait.

  My eyes widen and my jaw drops open as I realize what he’s doing.

  His hand is on his dick. There is no denying it. You can see his hard-on, the veins on his shaft, the slow movement as his hand goes back and forth.

  Oh. My. God.

  He’s jerking off, his face drawn in concentration. The shock at the picture before me is short but intense.

  But there’s more than shock.

  A wave of heat travels down my abdomen and settles between my legs. I can feel myself vibrating down there, my lady parts clenching and unclenching with sudden want.

  It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before. It’s the mixture of it all—his dark hair, muscular body, and the fact that he seems to be enjoying himself way too much—that’s turning my insides into jelly, and I don’t like it one bit.

  He must not have heard me because he neither turns his head, nor does he stop stroking himself.

  “Jesus. Get a frigging room,” I call out, my voice a little too breathy.

  His hand freezes in its movement. He turns around and shoots me an unfazed smile. “I’m taking care of basic needs here, if you don’t mind.”

  His gaze meets mine, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes, a dark shade of blue, are hooded, giving me the kind of bedroom look that screams he’s not in the least ashamed to having been found jerking off by a complete stranger.

  For a second, I think I see surprise on his face, but the fleeting impression is gone before I can fully grasp it.

  His brows shoot up as his eyes pierce through me, shimmering with challenge. “Want join in, or why else are you still staring?”

  Heat rushes to my face.

  Jerk.

  “Why would you think I’d—” My voice breaks as utter humiliation and blinding rage render me speechless.

  I peer from his eyes to his cock. His hand is still wrapped around it. Instead of deflating, I think it’s just gotten even bigger, the veins pronounced, the crown glimmering with moisture.

  The temperature’s just increased tenfold.

  Either that, or a complete stranger has just made me lose it.

  Peeling my gaze away from him, albeit unwillingly, I cover my eyes with my hand to block the image of his glorious cock. “Who says something like that to a stranger?”

  His raucous laughter rings behind me as I slam the bathroom door shut and press my back against it, taking slow, labored breaths.

  Okay, Sullivan.

  This so did not happen.

  “Jesus.” I rub my eyes hard, as though to wipe off the image of his naked body, but that’s not possible.

  The harder I try, the clearer I can see his huge dick in his hand. Who has a dick like that? Thick, engorged, and oh, so wet.

  The slick sound of his hand moving up and down rings in my ears. Was it as loud before? Or has he just resumed his action?

  Pressing my ear against the door, I hold my breath and think I can hear his hard breathing.

  God, those low, deep moans are sexy.

  I move back down the hall, focused on getting away as fast as possible, and open another door by accident.

  It’s a bedroom with clothes scattered across the bed.

  Men’s clothes.

  Men’s shoes litter the floor.

  The scent of aftershave lingers in the air.

  “Changed your mind after all?” The voice behind me is deep and husky. For a moment, I’m immobilized as he continues, “I think bedrooms are a bit overrated, but what the hell? If that’s your thing, I’m up for it.”

  It’s the same guy from the bathroom. He must have followed me.

  I turn to face him, my gaze strangely drawn south, and find that a thin towel is wrapped around his hips, covering his junk.

  I let out an exasperated snort.

  It’s really tiny. The towel, that is.

  Not his tool.

  That one’s about the biggest I’ve ever seen, counting TV and Internet pop-ups.

  I don’t want to gawk, and yet I find my gaze glued to the clearly defined bulge underneath that towel.

  In the bright light spilling in through the large bay windows, I can see everything. There’s no denying he still has a raging erection, as though pleasuring himself wasn’t nearly enough to still his sexual appetite.

  “Seriously?” I ask, pointing to the towel. “Can’t you put something on?” My voice sounds strangled, breathy, which I attribute to the fact that I’m highly uncomfortable standing in front of a hot guy built like a Greek god and hung like a donkey.

  “What’s so important that you had to interrupt me back in there?” He points toward the bathroom door.

  “I interrupted?” My jaw drops, and white hot flashes of anger begin to cloud my vision. “Oh, you’re talking about your date with your right hand. Sorry about that.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?”

  His brows shoot up. “Here?”

  “Yes, here in my apartment.”

  Ignoring my question, he squeezes past me, his erection coming dangerously close to my abdomen. From up close, he smells of sandalwood and raw manliness.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  It takes all my willpower not to jump a few steps back to put some distance between us.

  He retrieves another white towel from his suitcase and wipes his face with it.

  Every fiber of my body is heating up at the sight of his naked back. Bruce is tall and a bit skinny. This guy is built like a boxer: tall with broad shoulders and hard muscles in places I didn’t know existed.

  As he turns to regard me, I notice the color of his eyes.

  Deep brown and broody with long, dark lashes.

  They’re the sort of eyes that make you feel like you’re the only woman in his world.

  It’s a pity I didn’t get the chance to watch him finish the act earlier.

  Why would I think something like that?

  I can feel my cheeks burning. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that my face has just turned a similar shade to the greeting lady’s hair color.

  The guy steps in front of me, eyeing me with curiosity. He’s standing too close for comfort, sucking the oxygen right out of the air. “What makes you think this is your apartment?” His voice is low and nonchalant, as thou
gh we’re sitting in a café engaged in small talk about the weather. No sign of nervousness at all that he’s just exposed himself to a stranger.

  “The form in my folder says so.”

  “The form?” The corners of his lips twitch. “What does it say?”

  “2B.” I scan the room again, suddenly uncertain. “What apartment is this?”

  “2B.” He frowns, but for some reason I think I see amusement in his eyes. “Clearly a mistake.”

  “No doubt.” I stare him down. “Why don’t you start packing up again? Because I’m pretty sure this is my place.”

  “Is that so?” He crosses his arms over his imposing chest. I try not to stare at his bulging biceps, but it’s hard. “I’m not leaving.”

  My anger flares. “This is my apartment. You’ve made a mistake.”

  “I assure you I haven’t. I’ve been here since this morning. Even had a counselor stop by to ensure I was comfortable.” His lips twitch again. I don’t know why his statement sounds dirty, but this isn’t the time to probe.

  My eyes widen and my legs begin to shake just a little bit. “Are you saying you’re staying here?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” He cocks his head to the side. “I assume you’re the love addict who’s going to be my roommate? My counselor told me a little bit about you.”

  Love addict?

  I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

  In all honesty, what could I possibly reply?

  The fact that he’s just called me a love addict is too much.

  Turning around, I bolt down the hallway as quickly as I can, then grab my luggage and head for the elevator.

  It has to be a mistake.

  It has to be a fatal mistake. There’s no way anyone would shack me up with a guy.

  I can’t live with another guy, not even for therapy purposes.

  My heart belongs to Bruce only. He’s the first man I’ll ever move in with.

  Bruce with his dark brown eyes and soft smile.

  Bruce who loves me and would never be such a jerk to me.

  It feels as though it takes me forever to reach the reception area, and twice as long to find my way back to the redhead who’s engrossed in small talk with a group of new-arrivals.

  As I wait for her to acknowledge my presence, I make out her name:

  Marlene Elijah.

  “Excuse me?”

  She turns her head away from the group and for a moment, confusion crosses her face.

  She has no idea who I am.

  “We met ten minutes ago,” I say to refresh her memory. Her face remains blank. The woman’s clearly overworked. Either that, or her facial recognition abilities suck. “I think you guys made a mistake. I’m supposed to share my apartment with a girl, but there’s a guy in there.”

  Her frown deepens as she regards me. I can almost see her brain trying to place me. “What’s your apartment number?”

  “2B.”

  “And you are?”

  “Vicky Sullivan.”

  Her manicured finger trails down the names on her list and begins to tap against one row at the bottom of the page. After a short pause, she glances up with a smile.

  “Not a mistake, I’m afraid. Your roommate is Kaiden Wright.”

  I stare at her, completely dumbfounded. She can’t have said what I think she just said. Someone made a mistake somewhere. After all, this is the LAA center.

  Hello?

  The Love Addicts Anonymous Center.

  “But…” I shake my head. “I’m supposed to be here to get help.”

  For…

  There, I can’t even say the words.

  LOVE ADDICTION.

  It sounds so ugly. Sickening. Like an infectious disease.

  Marlene doesn’t look at me full of pity or wrath. She smiles kindly, as if my supposed condition is something she’s dealing with on a regular basis.

  “I’m pleased to say that we’ve placed you in our newest therapy program.” At my horrified expression, she pats my upper arm. “At first it might seem inconvenient that you’ve been paired with a male, but don’t worry. We know what we’re doing. Kade is going to be your partner. You’ll make a great team.”

  “But he is male,” I protest.

  Doesn’t she get the magnitude of it all?

  I can’t engage with a stranger in the kind of things Bruce and I should be experiencing, like living together and going to therapy.

  This is just wrong.

  “Correct.” She nods her head. Her glance sweeps to the waiting group behind her, and I realize I’m about to lose her. “You’re going to help each other. Isn’t that great?”

  It’s immoral and wrong on so many levels, I can’t even begin to describe it. “Is that even allowed?”

  “If you want to come out of this experience stronger and more independent, you need to triumph over your demons,” she says, her smile fading a little. “Living with him is going to be a test. And yes, I realize that it may seem somewhat unheard of, but this is our newest therapy plan which, without a single doubt, is going to be very successful.” She gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry. You will receive all the support you need.” She pauses for a second, as if unsure whether to throw in more information or not. Eventually, she leans forward, close enough to whisper so no one but me can hear her.

  “Personally, I think it’s a bit counterproductive.” She smirks. “But I’m not the one who develops the therapy plans. It might help you to know that you two don’t suffer from the same kind of addiction.”

  “Yeah?” The tension falls off a bit. “What is he here for?”

  Drugs? Games? Sounds about right.

  Maybe he’s one of those people who work too much.

  I can deal with a workaholic.

  “I’m not supposed to tell, but what the hell?” Marlene laughs. “You’re partners. You’ll find out soon enough, right?”

  Now she’s really made me curious.

  I nod my head, impatiently waiting for her big revelation.

  When nothing comes I prompt, “What is it, Marlene?”

  “Kade is our newest sex addict,” she says gently, as if he had an addiction to little, furry bunnies.

  I stare at her, open-mouthed.

  A sex addict?

  Figures.

  I burst out in laughter.

  A sex addiction makes so much sense. Why didn’t I think of that? After all, he wasn’t exactly stroking little bunnies in that bathroom. Besides, who in their right mind can’t control their urge to jerk off in the knowledge that someone could barge in any minute?

  “Do you have a problem with that?” Marlene asks. Her smile is gone; her tone is hard, on edge. Maybe this was all a test, which I’ve just failed, and she’ll report back to the judge.

  I might never see Bruce again.

  “No.” I clear my throat. “Not at all. You can rest assured that I’ll do my best. Is there anything I need to know?”

  “Good. You’ll find everything you need to know in your leaflet. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With that, she turns her attention back to the group, dismissing me.

  Heading back to my apartment, I barely notice the blonde bumping into me.

  “Sorry.” I look up. It takes me a second or two to remember her name.

  “They placed me in the wrong apartment,” Sylvie says.

  “Me too.”

  Her features relax a little. “No way. Are you saying that—”

  “That I’ve been paired with a guy? Yes.”

  “Holy shit,” she mutters, then clasps a hand over her moth. “Have you talked to someone? Are they really okay with this?”

  I nod my head. “Apparently, yes.” At her mortified expression, I laugh. “But you haven’t heard the best part yet.”

  7

  KAIDEN

  * * *

  My grip on the razor tightens as I start to move it down the side of my face, leaving a smooth line behind. I rinse the razor under the
cold water and bring it back up to my face, holding it close to my skin.

  I stare at myself in the mirror, but it’s not me who I see.

  It’s the vexed stare of my new roommate.

  Damn.

  It’s been at least half an hour since the bathroom incident, but I’m still worked up like a goddamn teenager in heat.

  My counselor mentioned her name, but I can’t remember. I can’t even focus on racking my brain to find that tidbit of information. All I can think about is how hot she is.

  My head is pounding, and fuck, my hands are still shaking.

  It’s not fear that’s squeezing my chest in her clutches. It’s pure, raw need and anticipation, all fueled by the knowledge that I’ll be seeing a lot of her.

  A lot.

  I’m not even sure why I’m surprised, but I am.

  When I arrived, I was told that I’d be partnered up with a woman. Apparently, sex addicts are now paired with love addicts. I was told something about knowing that a girl is obsessive and clingy being a huge turn-off and usually…I would agree.

  As soon as I hear the word commitment, my dick goes all limp. Not limp in the metaphorical sense. But limp like floppy, soft, put on your PJs and go straight under the covers because there’s not going to be any action tonight, ma’am.

  The only thing worse than obsessive and clingy is doing the same woman twice.

  I never do twice. That’s almost a relationship.

  I do one hook-up per woman; strictly one hook-up only.

  And lots of fucking, preferably in all kinds of shades and flavors.

  I aim to please, and I aim to return the favor, but I don’t do commitment. Not once; not twice. Never. The mere thought of a woman asking for my phone number causes my entire body to break out in a cold sweat.

  In my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with being different than the rest.

  But good gracious…my new roommate is a goddamn nutcase.

  And most importantly, she’s hot.

  If love were a cake, she would be the icing on it.