Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  Zane realized that some of the people in the group had other sexual dysfunctions aside from mere addiction, but none of them were here to learn about deviant behaviors or to feel good or worse about their own particular dirty deeds. Instead, they were in the group to help support each other. By the third time he attended, he realized he hadn’t been looking upon the process properly. He needed to change his viewpoint so he could take advantage of what was being offered to him, because he saw that it could be powerful.

  Every Wednesday, Dustin would have a particular topic he’d talk about for a little bit, just enough to break the ice and trigger memories so the group would start talking. That—the talking—was where the magic began. It was therapeutic, something Zane discovered afterwards, when, during his third meeting, he’d decided to open up and talk about how his life had been shit when he hadn’t been able to control his addictions. He was finally on the upswing, he told the group, but because he knew there was a long haul ahead, he needed extra support…which was why he was there in the first place.

  The group was also beneficial. Just getting things off his chest helped Zane, but the insight they shared with each other was valuable. Sometimes people in the group had found things that had worked for them that other members would want to try for themselves. The whole experience had been eye opening.

  Today, Dustin introduced the topic of relationships and how sex addiction affected them. “We don’t have real relationships with the people we’re randomly fucking, do we?” That was one of the things Zane loved about this guy—he called it like he saw it. And it was true. Zane had never made love or even had sex with one of his lined-up groupies—lookalike Jens was all they were, really—when he’d been in the zone. Nope. But he’d fucked plenty of them.

  “So let’s talk about that. Not about our non-relationships with the people we’ve found but what we have with the people left behind. How do our addictions affect our friendships? The relationships we have with our significant others, our parents, our children? Coworkers?”

  The freaky girl Christina who liked to risk getting caught spoke first. “It actually helped my first marriage. My husband liked to watch, so we’d both go out looking for the perfect person for me. For a long time, we’d just bring them home, but we started not even caring about that. And he’d usually film us too so he could watch it again later.”

  “Ah, so your addictions helped your first marriage. What happened then?”

  She grinned. “Oh, you know how it ended, Dustin. There wasn’t a whole lot of love between me and my husband, and the longer we went on, the more apparent it became. We just started looking to score more and more dangerous prey. Our relationship revolved around that need, and I started wondering if I wanted to raise my children in that environment, you know?”

  “So what about now?”

  She sighed. “Well, today I’m good, but it’s always a struggle. I’m still an addict; I just do it alone. In some ways, that makes it harder, but it’s also sometimes easier that way.”

  Another woman, someone newer like Zane, asked, “But what about your kids?”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t have kids. I just want them, like lots of other people.” Christina announced that she was done talking when she got up and walked over to the coffee pot—a pot that brewed some of the thickest coffee Zane had ever drunk. He guessed it was better to be addicted to caffeine and sugar than a lot of the other shit he and his group members had been fighting.

  “Who else wants to talk about their relationships?” Dustin urged.

  Another person across the circle started talking, but Zane was distracted. Jesus fuck. Christina turned from the coffee pot and met Zane’s eye—even winked at him, making him focus on her as she walked back over to her chair just a couple of seats away. She had brown eyes, not his usual flavor, but she’d lined the upper lid with a thick coat of black and pasted on eyelashes that were too long to be real. Still, she wore them well. And she’d painted on red lipstick that stood out from her pale features. All this was mere window dressing on what was his usual type. She was a blonde with a gorgeous mane that flowed past her shoulders complemented by a nice rack and shapely ass.

  Fuck. He’d been doing so well too.

  He took a deep breath and smiled at her, forcing—yeah, forcing with all his goddamned might—himself to focus on the guy who was droning on and on about how his kids didn’t respect him but also how he feared that his son was going to turn out to be just like he was. Zane then averted his eyes from Christina and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he felt those old synapses firing, promising a reward if he jumped on the bait. It was a quiet but evil voice, a temptress, and he recognized it.

  The problem was…he was listening.

  Just one time. Just one taste. It won’t hurt. And no one has to know.

  “Josh walked in on me when he was four. I had a woman in the garage bent over the hood of my car and I was giving it to her. I guess he overheard me yelling. And then, when my wife came home from work—”

  Zane wasn’t even visualizing the entire act or even the repercussions. All he was focused on was that first taste, the initial lead up to it and the blam his body felt as all the right connections were made and the chemicals began rushing through his bloodstream, swirling up to his brain, feeding the beast within.

  And he had no focus the rest of the evening. He didn’t participate in the discussion, even though it was important to him, and he couldn’t listen so he’d be able to glean wisdom from others’ input. No…instead, he found himself looking at Christina’s knee. She’d crossed one leg over the other and was bobbing the lower half up and down, enough to keep his attention so that he imagined what the curve of her calf looked like. That goddamned knee was covered in a black stocking and just peeking out from the leather boot she wore…and it was topped off by a creamy thigh also covered in stocking until the peekaboo ended at the hem of her denim miniskirt. He didn’t imagine the sex; instead, his mind took all the paths it usually did when it was revving up. He imagined the way her thighs looked above the stockings and, if he was lucky, how they were being held with a garter. His mind also conjured up other images—like one particular picture of her running her fingers up her thighs, her nails painted red to match the lipstick she wore, and her spreading her legs, still sitting in that chair, trailing her fingers up, up, up until she could touch herself while maintaining eye contact with him. Oh, the sounds she’d make and the way her eyes would roll back as she whispered Zane’s name and thought about him.

  He took a deep breath and pinched his nose again. Shit. As soon as he left here, he was going to have to call Dr. Harvey. He didn’t care what a call like that would cost—it was a small price to pay for salvation.

  It was getting so bad he was afraid he was gonna pop a boner right there in the middle of group.

  What a relief when Dustin cut everyone loose and told them to have a good week. Zane knew he had to get the fuck out of there immediately, make a beeline for his car and call Dr. Harvey before even leaving the parking lot.

  But the universe wasn’t gonna make it that easy on him—no way in hell. As he was folding his chair and stacking it with the others against the wall, one of the guys in the group approached him and asked, “Do I know you? You look really familiar.”

  That wasn’t unusual. If he were Brad or Ethan, the guy would have already figured out where he knew him from. Instead, it was a vague recollection of a face, and the guy’s brain wasn’t helping out. Zane blew it off, saying, “I get that a lot, actually. I think I must have an evil twin somewhere.” He forced a laugh and started moving away.

  Rude? Yeah, maybe, but he was desperate. Zane was a fucking junkie who’d just awakened in the pusher’s house, and he was surrounded by his drug of choice. If he didn’t get the fuck out of there right now, there was no telling what his dick would do. No telling.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  THANK FUCK. ZANE made it out unscathed…but no thanks to an
y guardian angel he might have had. He’d wound up talking a little more to the guy who’d recognized him, shaking hands and exchanging first names. Then, as he almost made it out the door, Dustin stopped him. “I noticed you didn’t participate tonight, Zane. Everything okay?”

  Well, if you mean is my dick fully functional and in good working order, yeah. Everything’s great. It wants to fuck the shit out of anything and everything and I need some fresh air.

  He’d wanted to say that but, instead, made some benign comment about having a lot on his mind.

  Uh, yeah…a lot on the mind in his fucking cock.

  But now, outside, in the cool, clear evening air, he was already starting to feel better. He began walking toward his car, parked at the back of the lot, and each step he took felt more and more like freedom.

  Hell, it felt like success.

  But as he got closer to the car, he could make out in the dim light from the street lamps a figure leaning against the driver side door. That figure was petite with gorgeous tits and, he confirmed as he got closer, long blonde hair, red lips, knees peeking out of her boots. When he was almost within touching distance, she purred, “The name’s Zane, right?”

  He felt his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. This was dangerous territory, but he was already in the thick of it, exposed, bare…trapped. The worst part of all this was that this girl knew his weakness. How could she not? He might have been her weakness as well, and Zane was beginning to understand why a lot of these groups were divided by gender. Too late to pick the all-male one now.

  Jesus…this woman was his type from head to toe. “Yeah. Your name’s Christina?” He could only hope that, for some reason, she exuded a hot-to-trot vibe but underneath was actually sweet and innocent. That was all he could pray for at this point, because he felt weak and needed to rely on the kindness of strangers—or, rather, acquaintances met in support group.

  “Yep,” she said, moving toward him slowly. Why the hell did he feel like she was a black widow? He was fucking frozen, unable to move, like a pathetic rag doll, and she touched his neck at the collar where the skin—and the edge of a tattoo—peeked out. All he could do was to pull breath in and out of his lungs.

  His jeans felt tighter.

  He tried to talk but couldn’t, but that was okay, because she was taking over. Jesus Christ, it was like alcohol and pills had done all the talking for him in the past and he actually had no clue how to act around a woman—good, bad, or ugly. “I know a lot of girls have a strange obsession with singers, but I personally think bass players are pretty hot.” She said the word hot as if it burned her tongue and she had to get it out or risk pain…and, meanwhile, his cock strained against the zipper holding the two sides of denim closed.

  And she knew it. She ran that finger down the front of his shirt, scraping the nail of her index finger against the fabric, causing a crazy sensation to vibrate through his body. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she paused and then cupped the bulge below that threatened to break free. “Ah…very nice. Your car or mine?” He felt like he was going to come in her hand right then and there. It felt like a shadow covered his face as he closed his eyes, ready to give in.

  But in the darkness of his mind, he could see Jennifer and Zoe looking at him, pleading with him to not give in. Jennifer’s face overrode Christina’s in his mind, and that was the way it should be. All women who looked like Jennifer were a poor substitute for her anyway.

  As Christina stood on her tiptoes to bring her lips up to his neck, he realized he was still rock hard in her hand, but he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently removed her hand off him. “Christina, you seem to be a nice girl, but we’re only feeding each other’s addiction. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I have to walk away or I’ll always be a slave.”

  She blinked and pouted and said, “But…you’re ready. Aren’t you gonna get blue balls?”

  Goddammit. He couldn’t stand it anymore…the way she blinked her eyes knowingly, the way she bit her bottom lip, the way the fingertips of her other hand found him once more and began caressing him through the fabric. He could feel the blood throbbing through his veins, and he finally put his hand on the nape of her neck and pulled her close, kissing her with furious desire. His other hand fumbled up the front of her shirt to cup her breast. He heard her whisper, “Yeah,” as she began unzipping his jeans to get even closer.

  But then he felt one last plea run through his mind to fight. Fight, goddammit! Surrendering would undermine his progress.

  Worse yet, Jennifer would probably never forgive him, never understand. They would be through forever.

  He broke off the kiss and tried to laugh, but he knew it sounded desperate. He needed to get his mental shit together and get the fuck out of there. “Blue balls are temporary. Heartache lasts a lot longer.” He turned so he could open the driver’s door to his car. “Now if you’ll please excuse me.” He sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth and tensed up his entire body as if willing it to behave.

  “That doesn’t even make sense, Zane.”

  “It doesn’t need to make sense to you.” In spite of the danger in doing so, he turned his head to look at her. “Best of luck, Christina. You might want to tell your therapist about this.”

  He saw her eyes flash—anger? Disappointment?—but she backed away from his car. By the time he’d put the transmission in reverse, he saw her walking back toward the front door, possibly looking for another victim more willing than he.

  He’d dodged a bullet and felt stronger for it…felt relief as he pulled onto the street, even though his dick still hadn’t chilled out. But he had to tell Jen this and pray she would understand. If she didn’t, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

  * * *

  “There’s something I gotta tell you, babe,” Zane started, taking Zoe into his arms and kissing the child on the cheek.

  It was so good to see Zane, but something was wrong. Jennifer could sense that, could see it in his blue eyes. So when he pulled her close and kissed her as well, still holding Zoe, she said, “Okay. No better time than the present.”

  They moved to the couch and sat while he began talking. “You know I had support group tonight.”

  “Yes.”

  “I, uh…I was hit with a heavy temptation tonight. Heavy.”

  She felt her heart sink. Oh, God, no. This was how it always started—some girl he just couldn’t resist. Her heart grew heavy, feeling as though it were being squeezed in a vice. “What do you mean, Zane?” Her brain was already imagining all the times in the past, all the things he’d admitted to her, all the girls she’d seen, all the times she’d caught him. Would this time be worse? Would she be able to handle it better?

  And how the hell would she tell him it was over? Because she couldn’t do it anymore. Just couldn’t. Not only did she need to do a better job of protecting her heart, she had their daughter to think about now. Zoe slid off his knee and started playing with her blocks by the little box of toys in the living room.

  “I guess the problem is that, if you put animals together in a cage, they’re gonna act like the fucking animals they are, and…” She could tell this was hard for him. She watched him run his hands through his hair as he kept his eyes down. It didn’t matter how difficult it was for him to say, though, because the way it would hit her emotionally would likely be worse than anything he’d felt. So she refused to feel sorry for him. It didn’t matter if it was a mental problem—she couldn’t allow herself to be hurt anymore. “Anyway, long story short…there was this girl. And she hit on me in the parking lot. I almost—almost—gave in. But I didn’t. Still—I considered it and I think I even kissed her before I got my shit together.”

  Had Jennifer heard him right? Had she understood it? “Wait a second.” She touched his hand that was gripping his knee as if it was his anchor. When he made eye contact with her, she said, “You didn’t have sex with her?”

  “No. But I thought about it, Jen. I fuck
ing thought about it hard.”

  “But you won.”

  “I—”

  “You won, Zane. Yeah, it hurts knowing you thought about it, but I don’t think you’ve ever resisted the impulse before.” She stroked his cheek and Zoe toddled back over, holding out two blocks attached to each other that Jennifer was pretty sure the child couldn’t pry apart. “This is huge.” She took the blocks from her child and separated them before handing them back. “Daddy won today, baby. He won!”

  Zane blinked and she saw a sparkle in his eye before the corner of his lip turned upward. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  He swallowed and Jennifer noticed his eyes growing watery. “I did it for you. And her,” he said, grinning at his daughter. “You’re my family and I can’t risk losing you, Jen. You’re my fucking lifeline and I can’t jeopardize the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know that.”

  She nodded and grabbed his hand. “This is huge, Zane. Huge. It’s got to get easier, right?”

  “God, I hope so.” She saw the relief in his eyes as he added, “But I’m going to have to change to the men’s only group. I’m not tempted by guys.”

  Jennifer laughed. “Thank goodness. I don’t think I’d have a chance against them.”

  Zane chuckled as he squeezed her hand back. “Dr. Harvey suggested couples therapy a while back. He said it might help us both work through things together.”

  “Yeah, you’d mentioned it before.”

  “It might be the best thing for us. I’d still have my own therapy too, but Dr. Harvey said it could help you work through a lot of your anger issues.”

  “Who says I’m angry?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just…I know I’d be pretty damn pissed at me for all I’ve put you through.”

  She was afraid to talk about tomorrow, but she felt hope. “That’s maybe behind us now, though, yeah?”