Mad Addiction (Crazy Beautiful #2) (12 page)

Ryan

T
hree hours later, I’m still awake. I glance at the clock. It’s after one a.m.
Shit.

This isn’t going to work.

I slowly sit up—I heard Kelley come to bed a couple hours ago and I don’t want to wake her. I swing my legs over the side of the bed to rest my feet on the floor. I look to my lap . . . I’m hard as a rock.

Fuck my life.

Hell fuck
anything
. I need to take care of this.

As I make my way to the bathroom and quietly shut the door I think about how I got myself into this mess. When I suggested Kelley move in, I surprised the hell out of both of us. I really thought I was keeping our kid’s best interests in mind. You know, being helpful by not abandoning them both. Yes, it was also to keep myself from looking like a negligent asshole, but it was practical more than anything.

But now? I don’t know who the fuck I am lately. I stare at my rattled reflection in the mirror. Baby-proofing? Sleeping in the same bed with an attractive woman night after night? Sharing stories about my past? I look down to my tented shorts.
Agreeing not to have sex?

I feel like I’m going mad.

For ten years I’ve been extremely careful not to tempt myself with anything remotely habit-forming, but the more time I spend with Kelley, the more I fight that familiar pull. That undeniable, unforgiving addiction that pushes you to give in, even if you know it’s wrong. First it was a bottle of strong liquor that promised the chance to forget my problems, and now it’s a feisty, dark-haired girl that threatens to make me feel things I’ve worked damn hard to keep in check.

I never talk about my past, yet there I was tonight, spilling my guts right in front of her.
Because
of her. She’s so goddamn understanding and easy to talk to it felt right. And hell, I even experienced some sort of relief finally getting it out. I thought,
Damn, it’s nice to have a close female friend I can shoot the shit with.

But then she had to look at me with those soft, serious, fucking beautiful eyes. My chest felt tight and my stupid dick decided it was time to leap into action and I knew I had to get away from her before I did something majorly fucking stupid.

I stalk to the shower and turn the dial to the left. I was a moron to think I could handle this situation. I just need to relieve this pent up tension and I’ll be good to go.

I pull off my clothes and step behind the glass doors, letting the hot water pound the top of my head. I rest my hands against the cool glass in front of me, my head bowed to communicate some sort of sick prayer. I’m not a religious man, but I pray to anybody listening that I can maintain control these next few months.

Keeping my right hand on the wall, I grab my dick with my left and try to conjure any other woman’s face in my mind. I try to put fifteen years worth of dirty magazines and porno videos to use and focus on anyone—
anything
—else.

It’s no use. I squeeze my eyelids shut, trying to force my concentration, but all I see are two alluring eyes tempting me, challenging me. One is blue. One is brown.

I throw my head back, frustrated. I stroke faster, chasing a feeling of satisfaction that never comes.

I move to stand up straight. As I do, I catch sight of something to my left, just beyond the foggy shower door. For a second I think I’m imagining things, but I realize it’s a curvy—very real—figure.

Two eyes stare lustfully back at me.

One is blue.

One is brown.

Kelley

Y
up. I just walked in on Ryan Blake masturbating in the shower.

. . . and I’m not even sorry about it. Thrilled is more like it.

I woke up to pee and this is what I accidentally walk in on.
Ah yes . . . there is a sex god!

I can’t help but admire the erotic sight when he notices me and we lock eyes.

I should leave. Turn around and run. Being around this man—fake fiancé slash overprotective father of my child—is becoming increasingly complicated. The more time we spend together, the more our clear cut lines defining this relationship begin to blur. I hate that I physically want him so badly—his warmth, his comfort, his touch—when I know I can’t have him. Not in any real, meaningful way, that is.

But still, I can’t look away.

“Can I help you with something, Brooks?” Ryan asks calmly, as if he’s not standing there naked and dripping, holding himself.

The steam is providing a teasing cloud around him, allowing me to see enough to make my pelvic muscles clench. The water from the showerhead streams through his dark brown hair and down his face, pooling at his neck before sliding down the rest of his lean frame. A few droplets catch on his eyelashes . . . they splatter when he blinks them away. Completely forgetting the reason I came in here, I let my eyes roam his body, captivated by how
impressive
he is.

I lick my lips before softly admitting, “I think I’m the one that would like to help you.”

He stares at me with a mixture of confusion and lust. We both freeze, wordlessly questioning the other.
Are we really going here?

Finally,
Ryan reaches for the shower door and pulls it open. His blue eyes remain fixed on me as his lip curls into a smirk. His cocky expression is both a challenge and a dare:
You won’t do it, Brooks.

For a second I almost give in to his silent taunt. This is a really bad idea. Except the thing about being pregnant is that all my senses are extremely heightened, and right now I am so turned on it makes me lose all rational thought.

The heat filling the room is making me feel deliciously dizzy. I peek to get a clear, full frontal view of Ryan and suck in a deep breath.

Damn it . . . I’M GOING IN.

Without any further hesitation I step boldly into the shower, our bodies pushed close in the small space. Still in my pajama shorts and tank top, they instantly get soaked. The thin fabric turns see-through, and by the way Ryan’s eyes make their way to my swollen chest (which has grown a full size from my usual C cup), I assume he approves. He reaches for my waist and I slide my hands up his arms to feel his biceps. He grabs my ass and pulls me up against him, close enough to feel the hardness of his torso and legs . . . close enough to feel
all
of his hard parts. He smiles arrogantly, the same infuriating look he gets when he thinks he’s won an argument, which makes me put my hand to his chest before he gets any closer. I sure as hell don’t want him thinking he has the upper hand here.

“Just to be clear, Blake, this is only happening because being pregnant has turned me into some horny freak. You said you’re clean and I know you haven’t been with anyone for weeks, so I assume we’re in agreement that this is just sex and means nothing else.” I look at his face, trying to gauge his reaction. Maybe I’ll admit there is some small part of me—a
very
small, insignificant part . . . more of a speck, really—that hopes I might see a touch of disappointment in his eyes. Not that I expect this to change things, but it’d be nice to know I might mean a little something more to him.

Except, as usual, he continues to look so goddamned neutral and sure of himself when he says, “Crystal clear, Brooks. Just sex.” He grins, and I want to punch the look off his face. Or kiss it. Maybe both.

I start to lazily draw circles across his smooth chest with my finger, swirling the dripping water around and down his sculpted stomach until I reach just below his belly button. I look up at him seductively and add, “Good. I want to make sure it doesn’t hurt your feelings if I’m only using you for my own pleasure.” I admit that now I’m trying to provoke him. Two can play at this meaningless sex game. I don’t want him nearly as much as he must need to get laid, right? He was the one in here jacking off after all . . .

I’m startled as he walks me back against the smooth glass, pinning me so I can barely move. By the way my body automatically reacts, nipples hard and panties drenched, I know my plan has backfired. His left arm stretches out above my head as he runs his other hand slowly down the side of my face, past my neck, over my heaving chest, around the swell of my growing stomach, and under my shorts until his long fingers feel just how wet I am. I whimper as he leans in so that his mouth is dangerously close to mine. “At your service, Sunshine.”

Next thing I know I’m angling forward so his mouth can land hungrily on mine. Without breaking away, he pushes my shorts and panties down my legs and pulls off my shirt. I run my fingers up and down his arms, noticing how strong they are. Solid. Determined.

His hands move to the back of my neck. We continue to kiss like mad. I grip his forearms, desperate for more. All of a sudden I feel a slight flutter in my abdomen . . . it feels like literal butterflies flying around in there. I pull back and look down at my round belly cocooned between our bodies. Damn it if the sight doesn’t make something tighten in my chest. Ryan rests his forehead on my own and glances down, too. He gently places one of his large hands right at the top of my stomach before looking back at me. “Fucking perfect,” he whispers before placing his lips roughly back on mine.

Before I have time to analyze if he means that in a complimentary or sarcastic way, I find myself surrendering. Every kiss, every touch is like fire to my skin. I ignite for him and not even the water pouring down around us can make it stop. I know I’m going to get burned, but that doesn’t mean I can—or am willing to—prevent it.

He spins me around so my back is to his front. I press my palms to the wall for support. His hands travel my body and I feel his teeth scrape softly against the back of my neck. I push my ass into him, needing to feel just how much he wants this. By the way he growls in my ear, I’d say a lot. The man has been celibate for six weeks, after all. And right now I am more than willing to be the one he unleashes all that pent up sexual frustration on . . . I’m ready to spontaneously combust over here.

Thankfully I don’t have to suffer his tortuous foreplay much longer because I feel him at my core, gliding to fit perfectly as he shifts to push inside me. I cry out in relief. I squeeze my eyes shut and let the warm water stream over me, glad he can’t see my face—I don’t need the smug bastard knowing exactly what effect he has on me.

As he drives in and out of me, he grips my hips so hard I’m sure I’ll be branded with his fingerprints for days. The thought sends an extra ripple of excitement up my spine. I spread my legs and bend over, leveraging my weight against the glass. This steadies and intensifies each hard thrust. He snakes one arm around to rub my clit, making my knees weak. A moment later I feel the fire spread from my head right on down between my legs before rocketing up to settle in my chest. I come with a loud cry, and feel Ryan’s own muscles contract simultaneously. We finish riding out the wave together before I feel him pull out and take a step back. I’m keenly aware of the stark emptiness I feel not having him still be a part of me.

After a few silent moments I cautiously look over my shoulder. Ryan coolly grabs the washcloth hanging on the small towel bar and starts to scrub himself, washing any evidence of what just happened down the drain. I bend down to grab my soaked clothes before turning around to face him.