[Addicted To You 01.0] Crave

by K. M. Scott

  But not Kristina.

  Her candor charms me more than I thought I could be. I can’t help but want her because of her openness. What began as a fascination—an obsession borne of infatuation—has grown to more far quicker than any of my other addictions, but unlike with them, I haven’t thought even once to stop myself from falling.

  She has no idea of the depth of my desire for her. No doubt to her I’m just a typical male who’s wasted no time getting in her pants. I don’t deny that part of my attraction to her, but there’s more. The need to hear her soft voice, to see her blue eyes as she looks at me like she cares—the need to have these things around me begins the moment I wake up.

  This is the life of an addict. I know this. I also know if I told her what I really am she’d likely run away and never want to come back. For now, all I want is her, but the time may come that I want alcohol or junk more than her.

  Who am I kidding? It’s not a matter of if but when. I know this, but as I look over at her sleeping so sweetly next to me, her mouth in a tiny pout that makes me want to take her in my arms and never let her go, I want to believe that this time will be different.

  “Did I wake you?” she asks as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, happy to lie to save her any amount of embarrassment.

  “Is it late?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check the time. I was just watching you sleep.”

  Kristina buries her head in the pillow and mumbles, “I snored, didn’t I?”

  “Not too bad. I had to get up anyway.”

  Giggling, she picks her head up and I see she’s blushing. “I’m so sorry. I snore like a lumberjack, or at least that’s what my sister always says. She refused to sleep in a room with me when we were teenagers.”

  “No, not a lumberjack. More like an adorable little saw cutting through wood. Like something in a cartoon.”

  “That’s still awful!” she says with a smile. “Sorry about that. If I do it again, just roll me over. That usually works.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “So not sexy, right? Actress Kristina Richards snores like an old man. I can see the cover of The Enquirer now.”

  “I promise it’s our secret. I won’t tell another living soul.”

  She touches my shoulder and traces her finger down over my collarbone. “That’s two secrets now. I had no idea you were so cloak and dagger.”

  “I’m like the CIA—full of secrets,” I say with a smile, my answer far more truthful than she can know.

  “I think I like that. A man of mystery. Sounds sexy.”

  Her sweetness continues to charm me, even first thing in the morning before I’ve had my coffee. Is she always this cute when she wakes up?

  I want to tell her nothing would make me happier than just lying there in bed with her all day, but that would probably come across as too much so early in the relationship. That’s the kind of thing people say after they’ve moved in together, not on the second date.

  Is it really just the second time we’ve been together? It feels like I’ve known her for ages.

  “You’re pretty quiet. Are you one of those people who hate mornings?”

  “Not really. I’m just too dependent on coffee at this time of day. You’re not like that?”

  Kristina shakes her head and smiles. “No. I don’t drink coffee. I’m a tea person. They say tea has more caffeine than coffee, though, so it’s the same addiction. I’m guessing you don’t have any tea here, though.”

  I stretch the sleep from my limbs and think if I have any tea in my kitchen. As someone who doesn’t drink it, there wouldn’t be much reason to have any, but I think my mother might have left some one time when she came to visit me. All of this runs through my head surprisingly fast for this time of day, and I nod. “Maybe. We can check when we finally get up.”

  A shy smile spreads across her beautiful mouth. “Oh. We’re not getting up now?”

  “No. I’m not ready to leave this bed just yet.”

  “Got anything in mind?”

  “Yeah.”

  As I roll her over on her stomach, I can only think of one thing I want to do.

  After Kristina leaves, I get ready for a full day of planning this new project that more than ever has my attention. Silk, as I’m calling it, is the story of a woman who fights her addiction to heroin through her other addiction, sex. The main character, Kate Silk, is a famous actress who wants to be known as more than just some Hollywood starlet gone wrong. Her story is much like every famous star who’s fallen on hard times, but she’s determined to be the exception to the rule.

  I sit down in front of my laptop and let the ideas flow from my fingers. Far quicker than when I brainstorm for my historical fiction, the story begins to take shape right there in front of me on the screen. Kate’s appearance, her backstory, the conflict all come so easily, but then I see why.

  They’re Kristina.

  Even though I know little about her life before we met, except for her work in films, because I still refuse to cyberstalk her instead of gleaning the information the old fashioned way—through conversation and serious moments together—I imagine the details so the story comes alive. Eventually, I’ll find out about Kristina’s past, but for now, what I create for Kate’s past will work just fine.

  Six hours later, I sit back proud of my work and satisfied with how Silk is shaping up. I’ve spent all day in Kate Silk’s world, one I know all too well. I didn’t plot out the parts about her addictions. I don’t need to. I’ve lived it for so long that story is part of me, part of every day of my life.

  For now, Kristina is my addiction, and after so many hours without her, I need to see her. I call her and just the sound of her voice eases the edginess I began to feel hours ago.

  “Hi Ian! Did you miss me?” she asks playfully.

  “I did. Am I seeing you tonight?”

  “Another dinner planned or something different?”

  “I’d like to tell you about the book you’ve inspired. I can order Chinese, if you like, and we can talk about it.”

  “I’d love that! Say eight?”

  I quickly calculate how long until I can see her. Four hours. I can make it that long.

  “Eight’s good. Do you want me to get some wine for you? All I have here is scotch.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring the wine, and you get the Chinese. I love General Tso’s chicken. Not very Chinese, but the place a few blocks from you tastes great.”

  “Then it’ll be you, me, and the General for dinner.”

  There’s a pause in our conversation and then she asks, “Should I dress any particular way? I don’t want to be underdressed if we’re going somewhere.”

  “Wear whatever you love. I want you to be comfortable here.”

  “Okay. Eight o’clock with you and the General. It’s a date. I’ll see you then, Ian.”

  I pace the room back and forth, each time checking to see if the minute hand on the clock has moved any closer to eight. I’ve been doing this for thirty minutes, unable to keep my mind from thinking about her. This is obsession. This is addiction.

  This is me.

  The knock on my door makes my heart leap in my chest, but I stop myself from racing to the door and flinging it open to see if it’s Kristina or the delivery man with our Chinese food. Neither one of them would understand my behavior.

  Slowly, with measured steps, I make it to the door and open it to find her standing there smiling up at me. I want to take her in my arms and hold her to me. I don’t only because I know she wouldn’t understand.

  Don’t want to come on too strong. Go easy at first or you’ll scare her away.

  The words repeat in my mind as I welcome her in and escort her to the kitchen to open the wine. She’s talking about something going on down on the street, but I’m focused on her white sweater that appears to have been made especially for her. It clings to her body perfectly, huggin
g her breasts as if to showcase them.

  She’s dressed this way for me. The fact makes keeping my hands off her next to impossible, but as she continues to explain something about a group of people in front of my building, I work to not touch her so soon, stuffing my hands into my pockets to hold myself back.

  “I think they recognized me, but thankfully, something happened in the street and I was able to slip inside without having to wait for you to let me up. Thank God for your doorman.”

  I absentmindedly answer and smile even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. Taking the wine bottle from her hands, I find the corkscrew and open it for her. Pouring her a glass, I hand it to her and receive one of her beautiful smiles in return.

  “No drink for you?” she asks as she looks around for my glass.

  “Not yet. I’m content as I am for now.”

  Kristina takes a sip of her wine and places the glass on the counter as she licks her lips. I watch her tongue moisten them like it’s the most interesting act I’ve ever seen.

  “Ian, is something wrong? You’re staring at me and not saying much.”

  “No,” I answer and shake my head.

  “Okay.” She steps toward me and kisses me, whispering against my mouth, “I thought about you today.”

  I taste the sweetness of the wine on her lips as my tongue slides into her mouth. It’s fresh and natural, not syrupy, and it dances across my taste buds. This is what I’ll think of when I want to remember how her kiss tastes.

  Her fingers caress the tips of my ears, tickling me, and I pull her mouth to mine in a deeper kiss that makes my cock stiffen. I want her right there against the counter in my kitchen. I push my hand under her sweater and cup her breast through her bra. Under my touch, her nipple tightens into an excited peak, and I squeeze it hard between my thumb and forefinger, loving the sound of her whimpering into my mouth.

  Reaching down, I slide my hand under her purple skirt to find the black tights she’s wearing only go to the tops of her thighs. Above them, all I feel is soft skin because she’s doesn’t have panties or even a garter belt on. The need to be inside her makes my chest tighten with need, and I break our kiss to take a breath.

  “I almost gave the whole world a show on my way here when a gust of wind blew my skirt up,” she tells me with a cute smile, not knowing how jealous the idea of other people seeing her like that makes me.

  She presses her body to mine and tilts her hips to feel the hardness of my cock. I know I should wait—that I shouldn’t want to fuck her every time I see her—but just her being near me makes my body crave her. Inching my fingers up over her hip, I feel the smooth skin of her bare pussy and want to bury my face in her.

  One finger slides over her clit, and I lick my lips at how incredible she feels. “I love how wet you are for me already.”

  Kristina moans and whispers hoarsely, “When I thought about you today, it was of how good it feels when you’re inside me.”

  An ache comes over me when I hear those words, like the only way to make it go away is to bury myself balls deep in her and fuck the pain away. I unzip my pants and my cock practically springs out, ready and willing like the rest of me.

  Lifting her, I thrust once and I’m inside her, loving the feel of her wet cunt around my cock. Her hands cling to my neck, and I grip her hips to absorb my stabs into her body. The need to come, to make her come, overtakes me so I can think of nothing else. I press her against the wall and fuck her hard, every plunge into her body another attempt to sate my need for her.

  She meets my thrusts with her own, rocking her hips against me as she moans for me to fuck her harder. My hips hurt and my back aches, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I need the release she can give me. I need to make her come.

  We hear the knock at the door and we look into each other’s eyes, the two of us silently questioning whether the other one will stop. I shake my head and continue pounding into her, and she closes her eyes. I feel her body just seconds away from surrender.

  She feels it too. In my ear, she sobs, “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, Ian. I’m almost there.”

  I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My body demands a reprieve from the cravings I’ve had all day, and Kristina is the only one who can give it to me. Another knock at the door drowns out our moans for a moment, and I say in her ear just as I feel her body begin to tighten around me, “Come for me. Give me all you have.”

  Her teeth clamp down on my shoulder as her orgasm explodes through her, sending streaks of pain across my back and neck, but I don’t care. She could bite me to the bone. My body is too busy rejoicing in the feeling of her cunt milking my cock for me to give a fuck about anything but the perfect pleasure she brings out in me. I come hard into her, flooding her body until it streams down between us.

  Panting, she says sweetly, “The Chinese delivery guy probably left.”

  “Unless I can go to the door just like this, I don’t care.”

  Kristina kisses me tenderly and hugs me. Pressing her lips to my ear, she says quietly, “I want to say I didn’t mean for this to happen again, but since I didn’t wear anything under my skirt, I guess that would be a lie.”

  I lean back and look up at her. “Are we going too fast?”

  For a moment, she’s silent, but then she says, “I should say yes. I know that. I know we should know all sorts of things before we get to this point. My friends say I jump into relationships too fast. But I don’t care. I like the way I feel when I’m with you.”

  I lie and say what I know I should say. “Just tell me if you want to slow down. We can take this slower.”

  She shakes her head and a tiny frown mars her beautiful face still covered in an after sex glow. “No. I didn’t mean it that way. I love the way you can’t seem to keep your hands off me. It makes me feel beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful.”

  Her smile in response to my compliment thrills me. I kiss her and slowly lower her to the floor. She looks down at my still hard cock and winks at me. “I’ll check to see if the Chinese is still nearby. You get yourself straightened up.”

  I hand her the money and zip my cock back into my cum-soaked pants as I watch her walk toward the door and love the view of her from behind. Shaking my head, I try to focus on something else. I’ve just finished fucking her not five minutes before and all I can think of is doing it again.

  Kristina somehow finds the delivery guy and closes the door, a bag containing our dinner in her arms. “He looked at me like he knew exactly what we were doing while he was out in the hallway. I gave him a big tip.”

  Taking the food from her hands, I kiss her and run my tongue over her lips. “As long as that’s all you gave him.”

  “He’s not my type. I prefer my men tall, lean, with dark hair and eyes darker than I’ve ever seen in another person.”

  I smile at her description of me as I unload the General Tso’s Chicken and Moo Shu Pork from the bag. “Anything else you like in your men?”

  She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my back. “I like it when they know just the right words to say.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m an author then.”

  Pressing a light kiss onto my cheek, she snatches her food out from in front of me and walks toward the table. “I guess so. Are we eating in here?”

  I think about how she likes what I do, even though what I write isn’t usually sexy. “No, let’s sit on the couch and eat. Then I can tell you about the story.”

  Peeking her head back into the kitchen, she says, “I can’t wait. I’m dying to hear what a story inspired by me sounds like.”

  “Patience, grasshopper. All in good time,” I joke as I follow her into the living room and sit down next to her, happier than I’ve been in too long.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ian

  Kristina snuggles up against my side and coos, “I can’t eat another bite. I’m all General Tso’d out.”

  “I w
as Moo Shu’d about ten minutes ago. I should have stopped eating, but it’s so good. Sure you don’t want a taste? I’ve got a forkful or so left.”

  Shaking her head, she says, “No. I’m stuffed. I’m going to struggle to keep my eyes open after eating so much.”

  I put the fork down and lean back on the couch, holding her as my back settles in against the leather. “If the story was one of my usual ones, I could understand that.”

  She looks up at me with worry in her eyes. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. I love all your work. I mean that.” I hear in her voice the fear that she’s offended me.

  “It’s okay. Except for other writers, this part isn’t the exciting stuff anyway. I could understand if you didn’t find it very interesting.”

  Kissing me on the side of my face, she repeats that she doesn’t find my work boring. Even if she doesn’t mean what she says, it’s still nice to hear it.

  “I want to know about all your writing, Ian. That you can string words together like you do to make such fantastic books amazes me. People always think actors are the great ones, but they only deliver the lines. It’s the people who write them who are truly the great ones.”

  I turn and kiss her on the top of the head. “We’ll see if you still think that after I tell you about this new story.”

  She brings her legs up underneath her and sits up straight beside me. “I’m all ears.”

  “I guess I have a confession to make. I began to write this before we met.”

  “I thought I was your muse for this, though?”

  “You are. I got the idea for this book after watching your movies,” I say quietly and then wait for her response.

  “You did? Something from one of my movies made you want to write this book?”

  I look into her eyes and tell her the truth. “Not something. You. You made me want to write this book.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You.”

  I see in her expression what I’ve said confuses her, so I try to explain my creative process without putting her to sleep for real. “You see, for a writer, ideas can come from just about anything. A song. A scene I see outside the cab as I head to a friend’s house. A movie. That’s what happened. I was watching one of yours the other night and the story just came to me.”