My name is Abigail Summers, and Iâm addicted to sex. Yes, you read right. Iâm a woman that cravesâ¦ no, needs to have a man take my body on a daily basis. If I donât have sex at least once a day, my body shakes from withdrawals, my stomach cramps with unbearable pain, my sexually hazed mind goes haywire, and I become extremely irritable and a major bitch. This isnât a lifestyle Iâve chosen for myself. Itâs a struggle I deal with every single day.
I donât do relationships, because what man wants to be stuck knowing his girl may be out having sex with some random guy if heâs not available? You may think this is something that I can control, but I say screw you; youâve never been in my shoes before.
The cravings may be something I canât control, but Iâve learned to embrace them. Iâve tried the sexual addiction support groups. Iâve tried curbing my appetites. Iâve been shunned, criticized, ridiculed, and called every nasty name under the sun. Well, I say fuck all you judgmental assholes. Iâll have sex with who I want, when I want, where I want. Embarrassment? Thatâs a thing of the past. This is my life now, and those that donât like it can go straight to hell.
But then he came along and screwed everything up. Colt Maverick. For once in my life, I want more, crave more from one guy. A guy thatâs sweet and doesnât match my hard interior. A guy that looks at me like he wants to eat me alive and claim me as his own. A guy that will most definitely not be okay with my addiction. A guy that I want over and over again, not because my body demands it, but because I demand it.
I now have a new addiction. But will he be enough to satisfy my uncontrollable desires?
âWhich is it, Abby?â I growl, needing to know if I should kick this guyâs ass for hurting her, or kick his ass for daring to touch what is mine.
She shakes her head, swallows, then looks up at me. Her eyes carry the same confusion Iâm feeling.
âI didnât want him, but he wasnât hurting or forcing me, either.â
âTake me back to my place,â she blurts out, interrupting me.
For the first time tonight, I notice the sheen of sweat on her forehead and the paleness of her cheeks. She doesnât look like she feels well. My ire dies, and concern takes over. Her eyes once again drop from mine when she sees my worry. I bend my knees and force her to look at me when I get in her face.
âWhatâs wrong with you?â I ask.
âNothing,â she mumbles. âI just want to get out of here.â
I donât believe her, but when I see the pinch of pain on her face, I decide to force the issue later, once weâre alone.
âMy place.â I back away and grab her hand. âItâs closer,â I add when she looks like she wants to object.
Luckily, she nods.
The forgotten guy on the floor has managed to sit up and lean against the wall, still holding his nose and stomach. My eyes narrow at him when he looks up and spots us. The bastard shrinks back further against the wall at my look.
âThe back door,â Abby murmurs and pulls on my hand, leading me to a back entrance.
After stepping outside into the dark alleyway, Abby stumbles to a stop several feet from the door. I look to see whatâs wrong and find her staring at me. The look in her eyes is hard to distinguish. I see pain, uncertainty, and a hint of what looks like desire. The desire is what confuses me. Sheâs obviously hurting, so how can she be turned on at the same time?
âBlue,â she says softly, her hand tightening in mine.
âWhat is it?â I ask, stepping into her space.
Whatâs up with this woman? Somethingâs off with her, and I need to find out what it is before she drives me crazy.
The hand she was using to hold mine releases its grip and lands on my lower stomach. Her other hand trails a path up my chest and snakes around my neck. I gaze down at her in bewilderment when she steps closer and plasters her front to mine, her tits flattening against my hard chest.
She grips the waistband of my jeans. âI need you,â she whispers harshly.
My dick jerks, and I want nothing more than to sink my hands into her plump ass, lift her up, and sink inside her, but I donât. I need to get her home and find out whatâs wrong with her first.
âLetâs get you back to my place.â
âNo,â she whimpers. She raises her hands and digs her nails into my scalp. âI need you, Blue. Please.â
Alex Grayson is originally from the south, but has recently moved to Northern Ohio. Although she misses the warmth of Florida and often times detest the cold of Ohio, she absolutely loves living in the north. Her and her husband bought a house on two acres of land and live there with their daughter, son, one dogs, two cats, eight ducks, and three chickens. She hopes to eventually get a couple of goats to add to their country way of living. Besides her family and home, her next best passion is reading. She is often found with her nose obsessively stuck in a book, much to the frustration of her husband and daughter. On more than one occasion Alex found herself wanting a book to go a certain way, but it didnât. With these thoughts in mind, she decided to start writing stories according to her own visions. Although this is a new endeavor for her, she hopes that readers find her concepts on romance intriguing and captivating. Alex welcomes and encourages feedback, of any kind. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.