Addicted to Sin

by Monica James

  “Juliet,” I hiss, looking down the hallway, afraid my neighbors will see a masturbating woman outside my door.

  “Shh. This won’t take long,” she says breathlessly, closing her eyes as she bites her lower lip.

  I don’t care how long she thinks it will take, this display has gone on long enough. But as I watch the way her fingers move frantically underneath her skirt, and hear the soft, breathy moans coming from her parted mouth, I know she’s close. I also know that if I lend a hand, she’ll come even faster and leave me the hell alone.

  That fact sickens me, considering I have Madison sound asleep in my bed, but she’s the reason why I reach forward and stroke the flesh behind Juliet’s ear, in step with her demanding rhythm. The move drives her wild because she knows there’s more to come.

  Gliding up her neck, I wrap my fingers in her hair and yank hard, pulling her head backward. She moans with the forceful movement and steadies herself by placing a hand against my shoulder. I feel disgusting, but the harder I pull, the louder she hums, and the faster this nightmare will end.

  “Oh, babe,” she pants, her fingers digging into me as her hips buck forward.

  The scene before me is highly erotic, but in no way, shape or form am I turned on. All I can think about is Madison lying innocently in my bed, ignorant to the fact that I’m helping my fuck buddy get off.

  She’s taking longer than usual, and if I know Juliet as well as I think I do, she’s doing this on purpose because there’s one final thing she wants me to do. Lunging forward, I angrily latch onto her neck and bite over her pulse, sucking her warmed flesh into my mouth.

  It’s exactly what she wants and, within moments, she comes with a loud, breathless whimper. I let her go and wipe my mouth, revolted when I see her skin red from where I marked her.

  If she wasn’t still holding onto me, I would have slammed the door in her face by now. But this will be over in moments, and the worse is over with—well, one can only hope.

  Her eyes flutter open, and her smile is sated and relaxed. “See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” she says, slowly removing the hand from beneath her skirt.

  She doesn’t give me a chance to reply because with the fingers that were inside of her moments ago, she runs her pointer down my lips, leaving a trail of her arousal behind. I won’t deny she smells amazing, but I can’t help but feel she’s done this to mark me, knowing that I have someone inside.

  “When it’s my turn for a sleepover, give me a call.” She smirks, confirming my suspicions. “Or if you want to invite me in, we can have one now.”

  That’s not going to happen. Ever.

  When she sees my resolve, she shrugs, unaffected that someone else is sleeping in my bed. “Goodnight, Dr. Mathews. I’ll come to collect what’s owing to me soon.”

  Good grief, this woman is insatiable. A quality I once loved.

  “Goodnight, Ms. Harte,” I curtly say, thankful when she blows me a kiss and turns on her heel.

  I watch as she enters the elevator, not because I’m being a gentleman but rather because I want to ensure she’s gone. Waiting a few seconds, I close and lock the door behind me.

  Leaning up against the wood grain, I take a deep breath and instantly smell her on my lips. Quickly wiping away the evidence with the back of my hand, I squash down the urge to go for a shower, as it’ll wake Madison and create questions I don’t want to answer.

  Washing my face in the kitchen sink is going to have to do. But I’ll be sure to scrub every part of me tomorrow. Just for good measure, I use some hand wash and lather up a foamy handful, spreading it all over my face. I want no trace of her on me.

  When I’m satisfied I’m Juliet-free, I head back to my bedroom and creep inside. Thankfully Madison is still sleeping soundly, and I slowly pull back the covers, slipping underneath. The moment I smell her unique fragrance, I get hit with a serious case of the guilts.

  What I did was appalling, but considering my options, that was the better choice than fucking Juliet in the hall. Juliet is toxic, and that toxicity, which was once my favorite drug, now leaves me numb. I want no more.

  21

  Left Unsaid

  DIXON

  I’m grateful I wake to an empty bed, and I say grateful because I’m sporting some serious morning wood. Lifting the sheets, I groan, because there’s no way this boner is going anywhere without a helping hand, and my hands are a poor substitute for the hands I want wrapped around my dick.

  “Morning,” Madison happily says from the doorway. I quickly drop the sheet.

  “Morning,” I reply, clearing my throat. “How’d you sleep?” I ask, sitting up and subtly arranging the blankets around my lap. I hope she slept better than me.

  “Great,” she replies, walking into the bedroom while I run a hand through my messy hair. “Best sleep I’ve had in ages,” she concludes, her eyes fixated on my fingers as I try and gain some order with my mane.

  “I’m glad.” My gaze drops to the sliver of milky white skin peeking out between her jeans and my T-shirt, which she’s tied in a knot, Daisy Duke style.

  I quickly raise my eyes, as her supple flesh is so not helping my predicament below the sheets.

  “Yup. But we have a problem,” she says seriously, sitting on her side of the bed.

  We sure as shit do, I think, but ask, “We do?”

  Madison nods animatedly. “You’ve run out of coffee.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her dire grievance, as she’s dead serious. The fact she’s hunted through my cupboards doesn’t bother me in the slightest. However, the fact I’ve run out of coffee does.

  “So, how ’bout you let me buy you a cup to say thank you for letting me crash?” she says with a smile.

  I nod, as I’m all for the idea of spending any extra time I can with Madison. But I suggest, “How about I buy, seeing as you’re penniless?”

  Madison smirks. “I have my ways of getting what I want.” My eyes widen before they drop to her chest.

  She sees my obvious approval and laughs. “Not that, you pervert.”

  I raise my hands in innocence. “Hey, I’m only human.” I witness her cheeks turn a lovely pink.

  Deciding to focus on what’s important, I ask, “Did you call Mary?”

  Madison shakes her head. “No, I didn’t want to be rude and use your phone without asking.”

  “Oh, so you decided to hunt through my cupboards instead?” I playfully tease, and she nods.

  “That was a matter of life and death,” she states like it’s a no brainer.

  “And getting you home isn’t?” I ask with interest.

  Madison shyly looks at her feet and shrugs. “What can I say, your bed is way comfier than mine, and besides, is that a memory-foam pillow?” she says, finally raising her eyes.

  I laugh at her adorability and nod. “Well, you’re welcome back anytime,” I avow, but pause when I realize how that sounded.

  “Dr. Mathews, I just may take you up on that offer. I mean, I’ve read that studies show that memory foam promotes proper alignment when you sleep. So for science alone, I really should return,” she reasons with a smile.

  I try not to let my enthusiasm shine through. “Precisely. We’re both health professionals, and if we don’t look after our bodies, then how are we meant to look after others?” I counter, and Madison nods.

  “So it’s settled, you must spend another night to really determine if these studies are, in fact, correct,” I say, using my professional voice.

  Madison giggles. “Yup, it’s a price I must pay for the health of my spinal column.”

  Holy shit, how did this happen? We have just completely fake-reasoned to one another why Madison needs to stay another night in my bed, and it’s got nothing to do with my damn pillow, or her spine. The thought of her spending another night doesn’t help my current situation, but it’s a small price to pay to have Madison in my bed. Here’s hoping Juliet doesn’t decide on another impromptu visit.

  “How
about you call Mary and let her know you’re alive, as I’m not going to lie, she does scare me a little, um…a lot,” I confess, and Madison cackles.

  “It’s okay, she scares everyone.”

  Thankfully she stands and I smile. “I’ll just shower. Give me twenty?”

  “Okay, see you in twenty,” she says, and gives me a small wave before she leaves.

  I wait a couple of seconds, and when the coast is clear, I throw off the covers, desperate to take control of this raging erection. Just as I’m about to leap out of bed, Madison ducks her head around the doorjamb and asks, “Which remote control is for the TV? You have like, five.”

  I scramble for the blankets and quickly cover my lap, hoping I appear nonchalant as I reply, “The one with the plastic panel at the bottom.”

  “Okay, great, thanks,” and she disappears as quickly as she appeared.

  Taking a deep breath, I decide to try again, but the moment I kick off the covers and attempt to stand up, Madison’s face reappears in my doorway.

  “Is it okay to use your landline?”

  Quickly sitting back down and hastily crossing my leg over my tenting erection, I awkwardly attempt to look relaxed by resting my elbow on my thigh and leaning into my palm. “Of course,” I reply with a strained smile, drumming my fingers against my cheek.

  Madison looks at me strangely, but thankfully doesn’t address my sudden insanity and nods. “Okay, thanks.” And her face vanishes once again.

  I wait a full minute, just in case she has any other questions, but when I’m in the clear, I practically jump up and run to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Letting out a deep breath, I look at my reflection in the mirror, and my rampant hard-on stares back, begging me to put it out of its misery. I feel disgusting doing this with Madison in the next room, but it’s either this, or I end up dry-humping her leg by lunchtime.

  Turning on the shower, I strip down and step into the scorching heat, as opposed to the traditional cold one. Whoever said a cold shower is the remedy for a raging libido is a damn fool. I’ll take heated water, soap, my hand, and images of Madison’s agile body lying next to me any day over hypothermia.

  Lathering up some soap, I grip my rock-hard dick and begin the dance we’ve danced many times before. But this time, my dance partner has two left feet, and I can’t seem to find my rhythm. I don’t know why. I brace one hand against the tiled wall and try for a different angle, but it’s pointless. I’m off when I shouldn’t be, because there’s no doubt that I want to come.

  I stroke harder, and yes, it feels fucking amazing, but as I hear Madison laugh, I know the reason I can’t cross the finish line is because of her, which is ironic, seeing as she’s the cause of my hard-on. But I feel beyond disgusting jerking off with her a few feet away. I mean, what would she think if she knew I was currently beating off, using her as my inspiration?

  “What is this woman doing to me?” I sigh, lightly thumping my forehead against the shower wall as I let go of my junk.

  Giving up, I wipe an exhausted hand down my face while the other reaches for the faucet and turns the water to cold.

  With my teeth chattering and my body shivering, I look down at my semi-flaccid cock and grunt, “I hope you’re happy, you damn pussy.”

  * * *

  We’re on the hunt for coffee, and I’m blindly following Madison, who said she’s got it covered. I have no idea what that means, but funnily enough, I trust her. If it were Juliet, however, then I would expect “coffee” to be a code word for adult superstore, but I know Madison would never be so crude.

  Looking at the small angelo beside me with nothing but a skip to her step, I realize how at ease I am with her. I know she has a past, but don’t we all? Sadly, my past is about to leave me percolated and foaming at the mouth.

  We stop in front of a Starbucks, and Madison opens her arms out wide. “Ta dah!”

  I cock an eyebrow. “I don’t get it.”

  Madison laughs, screwing up her nose. “Duh, coffee is served. I know the owner, so coffee is on me.”

  I now understand what she meant by her “having ways.” Although, I do prefer my way over hers.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I ask, needing clarification, “Ah, you want to go in here?”

  Madison nods, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yes. They sell coffee, don’t they? What are you waiting for?” She tugs on my arm, while my feet remain firmly rooted to the sidewalk.

  Madison jerks forward and almost trips over her feet when I don’t budge an inch. Turning to look at me over her shoulder, she raises both eyebrows. “Are you all right? You look like you’re about to…cry?” she half teases, but I can hear the concern in her voice.

  “Cry?” I scoff, barely containing the edge to my tone. “I just don’t like Starbucks. It’s too trendy, not to mention their flamboyant, ridiculous names for coffee are downright ludicrous. How about we go to a little cafe up the road where they sell proper coffee and biscotti?” I nod, hoping she comes quietly and willingly.

  But of course she does neither.

  “How about you tell me what you have against Starbucks?” she says, crossing her arms across her chest stubbornly.

  “I don’t have anything against them, per se,” I reply, clearing my throat.

  “So why won’t you go inside?” she asks, cocking her head to the side, awaiting my reply.

  Goddamnit, Madison is as stubborn as she is beautiful. Another quality I like about her. Looking at her hard resolve, I know she won’t let this go until I tell her the truth.

  “I met my ex…fiancée in a Starbucks, and I guess I associate all Starbucks with her. I’m sure you can guess how this story ends,” I confess, feeling utterly ridiculous.

  Madison’s eyes widen at my sad, pathetic story, but she doesn’t throw me a pity party. “Oh, I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”

  I nod, putting my hands in my jeans pockets. “Yeah, I guess,” I reply, hating that, as usual, Lily is ruining my day.

  But once again, Madison surprises me as she says, “You’re right, Starbucks is a little trendy. And besides,” she adds, “you had me at biscotti. Lead the way, Dr. Mathews.” She smiles, waiting for me to make the first move.

  I stand speechless, staring at this mystical creature before me. She really is too good to be true, as I know her Starbucks spiel was entirely for my benefit.

  Offering her my hand, she looks at it for a heartbeat, but then links her fingers through mine and smiles. “So, what flavor biscotti do they have?”

  I can’t help but laugh at her obvious derailment, but I welcome it. I rattle off the long list of sweets the cafe, Dolci’s, has available, and Madison listens intently, smacking her lips at the endless options.

  As we walk hand in hand on a Sunday morning, I can’t help but think how natural this feels. Sadly, I have to remind myself that Madison is currently seeing David the douche nozzle, and this can never extend into anything other than friendship while he’s in the picture. I don’t like it, but Madison is a big girl and if she chooses to date primates, then I have to respect her decision.

  When we arrive at Dolci’s, I automatically push open the door for Madison, which is something I haven’t done for a very long time.

  “Dixon!” Concetta shrieks from behind the counter.

  “Good morning, Concetta,” I reply with a smile, as the elderly lady hobbles out and gives me a kiss on both cheeks.

  “Dove sei stato?” she asks, scolding me for being MIA.

  “I’ve been busy with work,” I reply in English, as Madison looks completely lost in translation.

  “You work too hard,” Concetta says with a thick Italian accent. “Look at you. You’re too skinny. Here sit, sit. I will make you frittelle di ricotta and bring some pane.”

  I laugh as she escorts us over to a booth. “Thank you, but just coffee and those biscotti.” I point to the endless display of baked goods. “This is Madison, by the way,” I add, and Madison smiles.
/>   “Nice to meet you,” she says, and she surprises me as she bends forward, giving Concetta two kisses on the cheek before taking a seat.

  When Concetta looks at me approvingly, I know what she’s thinking.

  “You are a principessa,” she says, and Madison giggles.

  “Thank you. I think.”

  Concetta cackles, patting my arm. “Mi piace il suo,” she says, voicing her approval of Madison before heading over to the coffee machine.

  Taking a seat, I look over at Madison, who’s looking around the store in awe.

  “Wow,” she gushes, her eyes widening when she sees the variety of food on display.

  Growing up amongst these traditional Italian items, I’ve completely forgotten how overwhelming all this cultural stuff can be. But when Madison bounces in her seat and claps her hands, I know she’s not so much overwhelmed as overjoyed.

  “Is that for us?” she asks Concetta, who has a huge tray of sweets in her wrinkled hands.

  “Si, principessa,” she replies, and places the platter on our table.

  “Thank you,” I say, looking up at Concetta, who I’ve known since I first moved to Manhattan.

  “Anything for you,” she replies, and I give her arm a gentle squeeze.

  A contented sigh has me turning around to look at Madison, who has slumped back in her seat, happily munching away on a cannoli.

  “That’s some good shit,” she says dreamily, taking another bite.

  When her pink tongue darts out to lick up any missed sweetened ricotta on her lips, I barely contain my self-control.

  “So,” I say, needing an immediate distraction. “I couldn’t help but notice you have quite the sweet tooth.”

  Madison pauses chewing and I chuckle at her guilt. She swallows quickly. “You got me. I don’t eat desserts often, so when I do, I kind of make up for lost time. Sorry,” she says, embarrassed.

  “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” I stress, pushing the platter toward her. “I like that you feel comfortable enough to eat this way around me.”