Page 67 of Addiction

Her eyes narrow. I’m still in the same smart clothes I wore to the gym opening today. “Dressed like this?”

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah. I did.”

“Asher, darling, are you okay?”

No.

No, I’m far from okay.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, trying to reassure her. “It’s just been a long day. Nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

“Sounds like my boy needs a cuddle.” She smiles, wiggling her eyebrows and causing a low chuckle to escape me as her arms open out. “Would you like a cuddle, dear?”

“I’d love one. Come here.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and bring her in for a hug, resting my chin on the top of her head. Her comfort has the ability to ease some of my anxiety, but it’s going to take more than a mother’s love to sort out the shit that’s racing around in my head.

“You know. There was a time when you told me you were too old for cuddles.”

“Well, the boy who told you that was talking shit because I loved them.”

“I know. That’s why I still gave you them.”

“And I’m glad you did.”

“Me too. Now, as much as I love you, you need to shower because you stink.”

I laugh. “I know I do. I’m sorry.” I kiss her on the top of the head and loosen my hold on her. “You okay if I head on up?”

“Of course, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Entering the bathroom, I turn on the shower and strip out of my clothes before stepping in. The cool water hits my skin, and it’s a relief my body has been craving. Each droplet soothes and cleanses every pore. I’m tired, exhausted from keeping up this fucking charade.

Like a recurring dream, Wade’s eyes haunt me, and the warmer the water becomes, the more it ignites desire. My body reacts on instinct, stirring a response in my lower abdomen. And this time, I welcome the thoughts that invade my mind.

A low groan escapes the back of my throat as I stroke my hard length, my other hand balled against the cool shower wall. I slam my eyes shut as the thought of Wade being here with me grows stronger, feeding the agonizing need as I imagine his mouth around my cock, pulling me closer and closer to the edge.

The harder I thrust, the more I crave this feeling.

He wanted me.

Me.

And I want him. On me. Around me. All-fucking-over me.

I chase the red-hot rush, over and over before my ass-cheeks tighten and the unearthly growl leaves my throat as I come undone with an orgasm that rips through me.

“Fuck…”

Resting my head on the tiled wall, I let the water run over my head and down my back as I feel myself relax. The euphoria is a welcome distraction from the twist and taunts. And it troubles me that here, now, is the only time I can get the release of my deliberations. In the shower. In private. In the imprisonment of my damn fucking mind.

* * *

It’s been one hell of a day here in Iraq. My back and shoulders are killing me, and I just want a shower and to chill out before we do it all again tomorrow. We are over here on a rescue mission and all the days seem to roll into one.

Wyatt—my best friend—enters the room in a towel having just showered, and I take advantage of being able to stare at the ripped torso that is on show, secretly letting my eyes roam his body, the water droplets running off his skin. Only I’m not fast enough to divert my eyes and he catches me looking… again. I make myself look busy, feeling like a dickhead for being caught while I try and wrap my head around the sensation that invades me whenever my eyes are on him.

I fuck women. So why does everything falter when it comes to Wyatt?

Why do my thoughts wander when it comes to him?