Addicted to You (10 page)

But Stan and Meg needed to know about their daughter’s latest flighty adventure. This was just another in a long series of impulsive decisions for Katie—like the time she’d threatened to drop out of college when she was a freshman to join the Peace Corps or the time she decided to completely redecorate her apartment in furniture rehabbed from trash in garbage dumps (Rill swore the glass coffee table retained a subtle odor of pickles).

Maybe he’d even drop a hint to the Hugheses that Katie wasn’t safe there with him.

That’d motivate them to call Katie and talk some sense into that stubborn brain of hers.

He built a fire and sipped at a glass of Jameson on the rocks. The drink didn’t mellow him, though, so he poured another once the logs caught flame. All the while, he had a sinking feeling the whiskey wouldn’t numb him like it had in the past.

Piss won’t do the job anymore,
he thought bitterly.

It hadn’t since Katie had come to town.

He turned on the light in the pantry and just stood in there for a moment, staring at the mostly empty shelves. For a brief second, the image in front of his eyes struck him as surreal. Where the hell was he? What was he doing, standing in a musty pantry that looked as if it’d been built in the American Civil War?

It was as if some old, foreign film clip had been sutured into two sides of the movie that was his life. He stood there, his hand frozen in the motion of reaching for a jar of pasta sauce on the counter. Nausea suddenly rose in his belly; vertigo caused his vision to swim.

For a few seconds, he was terrified.

He abruptly put his hand on his cock, grimacing when he squeezed with his fingers. Perhaps it was a strange thing to do at such a disorienting, existential moment, but he was just a guy. If there was one thing a man knew was real, it was his cock. He grasped onto that thread of lust, that bright flare of the familiar.

He ripped at his button fly impatiently and struggled with his clothing. All the sharp arousal he’d experienced so unexpectedly yesterday at seeing Katie, all the need, roared through him in a potent flash. He slammed shut the pantry door and fisted his cock.

He’d thought of himself as a dead man walking. The sudden surge of sap flowing through his veins, fast and hot, both alarmed and confused him.

His head fell back and he groaned in mixed misery and pleasure as he stroked himself. He didn’t even bother to try to shove the illicit images and fantasies out of his brain this time. It was either fall into the dark abyss of meaninglessness or grab onto the one remnant of his humanity that remained intact in him.

He reveled in all that he shouldn’t, imagining what it would be like to bend Katie over at the waist and bare her ass, what it would be like to slide a finger into her warm, tight slit, to coat himself in her abundant juices . . . to push his cock into a pussy that’d squeeze every memory from his brain . . . every last drop of come from his boiling balls.

She could make him forget. He knew she could. If he got lost in Katie, the memory of how he’d disappointed Eden as a husband might fade, the sadness of losing her, even though he’d known deep down at that point their marriage was over.

Katie might be able to help ease the grief of knowing what died inside Eden’s womb along with her.

The fantasy was so realistic he felt himself cresting after only a couple dozen jerks on his supersensitive cock. He was panting and gritting his teeth, already at the vinegar strokes despite the fact that he’d practically just begun. In some distant part of his brain, he knew the explosion that was about to erupt out of his balls had been building since he’d seen Katie standing there so uncertainly in that hospital waiting room . . .

. . . maybe sooner.

He groaned gutturally as pleasure swelled in him.

“Rill? Is that you?”

His fist paused midstaff on a near-to-bursting cock. He opened his eyes and stared at the closed double Dutch door, breathing heavily.

“Rill?” he heard Katie ask, her voice closer to the pantry door now. He stood unmoving, every muscle in his body strung tight, his cock throbbing in his hand. Her voice had trembled slightly when she spoke his name. She must have heard him groaning.

She had to know what he was doing in there.

“Don’t open that door, Katie,” he warned.

He stood utterly still, his body straining, his mind hyperfocused, like a man with questionable balance who suddenly found himself poised on the high wire. His ears strained to make out Katie’s movements. The silence seemed to roar in his head.

His heart lurched in his chest when he saw the knob move on the lower half of the double Dutch door and the soft click of the latch slipping out of the catch.

“Don’t, Katie,” he demanded, but that wasn’t really what he meant. He wondered how she’d known that when the lower half of the Dutch door swung outward, the top half remaining closed.

He watched, his misery and sharp arousal rising, as Katie went to her knees.

He could see her full, shapely breasts pressed tight against an indigo tunic that she’d belted with a braid of leather. Her untamed mane of hair hung loose, curls and waves abounding. She’d said the color she’d put on it wasn’t permanent, and he was glad to see gold shining through the brown, the dye having faded further with her morning shower. He saw the lower half of her face—the delicate chin, the lush lips. She placed her hands on her thighs, the gesture striking him as prim . . . subservient for some stupid reason. Katie was hardly the submissive type.

Every ounce of his attention was focused on her mouth when it moved.

“Come here,” she said softly.

His cock lurched in his hand.

He staggered toward her, hating himself but recognizing the sheer impossibility of refusal. Besides, he was at the breaking point of arousal.

He came close, feet just an inch away from her knees. She didn’t move away, although she must be able to see him at this point. He placed one forearm against the top of the closed Dutch door, bracing himself. He leaned toward her.

Her lips parted.

He watched, spellbound, as he used his hand to brush the flaring tip of his cock against her lower lip. She remained immobile, allowing him to spread a thin coat of pre-come on her mouth.

His groan felt like it was ripped out of the depths of him.

Her tongue came out, pink and quick, wetting the head of his cock. An uncontrollable shiver of excitement rippled up his spine. Her lips enclosed the rim in a tight clamp while she licked eagerly, giving him the impression she wanted to press his taste deep into her, like she was doing a rubbing etching with her tongue to find patterns on his dick. Her carefulness, her obvious hunger—the sheer strength of her tongue—drove him nuts.

She sucked, and there was no other direction for him to go but forward in that volatile moment. The arm that braced him on the top of the double Dutch door bent at the elbow. He thrilled to the sensation of sliding against her wet tongue, of being surrounded by her sultry heat.

He’d been so primed before that it was almost too much for him to bear. He nearly shamed himself further and came on her tongue then and there. Only his greed for her, the desire to relish in the moment, helped him to hold back.

She pushed forward with her head. Several inches of his cock filled her mouth, but he knew the top part of the door stopped her from ducking forward too far. He stepped toward her, so that his feet bracketed her knees, and leaned into her, watching from above as his dick slid between pink lips. She moaned softly, and he clenched his eyes closed as the vibrations from her vocal cords buzzed into his flesh.

Friction—the need for it overwhelmed him. He pumped and grunted at the sublimity of it. Delicious jolts of pleasure shot up his spine. His ass tightened again and again as he thrust, but she kept up with him stroke for stroke, bobbing her head with as much range of motion that she could without hitting the barrier of the door with her forehead. Wet, sucking sounds intermingled with his grunts of pure pleasure.

He transformed into an animal in those precious seconds, a creature that lived only to vanquish its hunger and survive another day.

The top of his head fell against the closed portion of the door. He wanted to keep his eyes shut, to keep up some semblance of a barrier between himself and Katie. The truth was, he was about to explode, and he hated that reality almost as much as the fact that he couldn’t control his need to surrender. The moment was too fraught with tension and sharp pleasure, too laden with emotions he wished he could strangle into silence.

But how could he quiet this need?

He opened his eyes slowly and watched through narrowed eyelids as his thick, veined flesh plunged into Katie’s mouth again and again. When her hands came up and lightly touched the backs of his naked thighs, he once again shut his eyes and bit his lower lip. Hard. Something about her gentle, tentative touch contrasting with his furious thrusts and her shockingly strong suction had nearly made him come once again.

Jaysus, if this had to happen, why couldn’t he have had the capacity to enjoy it more, at the very least? It didn’t matter what he wanted, though.

This was way beyond him.

He wanted to go deeper. He didn’t care in those volatile moments if it was sweet, beautiful Katie Hughes’s mouth he desecrated; he just wanted this fucking torture to end. The top part of the door restrained him somewhat, making it impossible to plunge as deeply as he desired.

He groaned desperately and pressed closer to both Katie and the door. When she twisted her head and tugged at his cock with her mouth, he knew she was trying to lower her head beneath the barrier of the door and take him deeper.

He reached down and grabbed at a handful of hair at her nape, holding her head immobile for his rampaging cock, but also prohibiting her from taking him into her throat. She pulled against his restraint, her mouth tugging on him even more strongly, and he tightened his fingers.

“Nah, Katie,” he growled, but he submitted to his hunger in his own way.

He pushed his chest against the upper part of the door and thrust madly, causing the catch to rattle. Only the first half of his cock pierced her mouth at its farthest point. He craved more but, at the same time, thanked God Almighty for the limit of the barrier between them.

The banging sounds of his chest against the door, his blistering curses and grunts of pleasure hailed down around them like sharp projectiles. He held her head firm, limiting her ability to pleasure him, but he existed in a haze of taut bliss, nevertheless, as he made free with her sweet, sucking mouth. His upper body battered at the barrier between them, but the top half of the door held firm.

He clutched her soft hair tighter and thrust as deep as he could go. He felt her recoil slightly, but then she was bobbing her head over him, taking him fast and furious.

Everything went black.

A roar of desperate pleasure scored his throat as he came. His entire body went rigid as his climax consumed him. In some distant part of his brain, he realized it wasn’t stopping.

Why the hell wasn’t it stopping?

Pleasure kept racking him in waves. Semen kept ejecting from his balls like he’d stored it under pressure for years.

He opened his eyes a moment later—an eternity later. His upper body was pressed flush against the top part of the double Dutch door. His head was turned, his cheek pressed to the white-painted wood as he gasped for air.

For a weird, mind-pulsating moment, he wondered if he lay prone on a hard floor. Then Katie twitched her tongue and his eyes rolled back in his head. He shivered at the sucking, muscular movements of her mouth and the quick caresses of her tongue as she cleaned him of his come.

He just stood there, smashed up against the top of the door by the force of his greedy lust. She continued to suck him. Even when he was utterly spent, she explored him with her lips, mapped out his contours with her tongue. It sent little electrical jolts through his sated, overly sensitive flesh.

He should move. He knew he should move. But what, precisely, should he do? Where should he go?

What the hell should he say?

Her hand came up and cradled his balls softly.

“Jaysus, Katie,” he moaned in mixed misery and arousal—a fresh arousal, forbidden to him in all new, even more complex ways than from that first surge of incomprehensible, wild lust. She slid him out of her mouth and kissed the crown chastely.

“Shhh, Rill.”

His thigh and ass muscles tightened at the sensation of her breath brushing against his moist cock. He fantasized about letting her bring him off again. Why not?

He’d already crossed the line, hadn’t he?

But what he wanted to do most in his fantasies was open that door all the way and remove the partial barrier between Katie and him.

“No,” he stated harshly.

He pushed himself off the door, not really sure where his reserve of strength came from, seeing how it was so glaringly absent just moments ago. He wouldn’t allow himself to glance up as he hastily pulled up his underwear and jeans.

When he finally did look, it was to see that the opening at the bottom of the double Dutch door was empty.

She’d gone.

Why the hell had he bothered stopping himself from opening that door all the way and taking Katie in the way he craved? he thought bitterly. He’d doused himself in alcohol daily.

Might as well drown in self-loathing as well.

Seven