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Rather, it was a need for the obliteration that meaningless sex with numberless strangers brought me. And that’s the part that my family’s always gotten so wrong with their jokes about my personal life.
I’m not a sex addict. I’ve just been trying for the last sixteen years to escape the memory of a room that smelled like chemicals, a woman who tasted like cigarettes and regret, and a brother whodid not care. And the blank, black escape of giving small pieces of myself to people who didn’t give a fuck about me as a human was always the easiest and fastest way for me to do that, even if it was only a temporary relief.
But I think I just found a better one. Except it’s not an escape at all.
It’s a cure.
She murmurs, stirring in her sleep only enough to curl her body back against mine as I slide in behind her.
My lips brush her shoulder. My arm encircles her.
Then sleep pulls me under.
When I wake to find an empty bed, instantly, my jaw tightens. The exhilaration of last night, while I watched her sleep and realized I didn’t have to run from my demons anymore, breaks off like a choked breath.
Until I hear footsteps. Until her bedroom door swings open, and a panting, sweating Elsa wearing running clothes comes bouncing in.
She grins, pulling the headphones out of her ear as her eyes land on mine.
“You’re awake.”
I glance at the clock and groan. I amnota morning person.
“It’s five-fucking-forty. Why areyou? I thought you’d be hungover.”
She giggles, shrugging. “I had Gatorade. I like to get a run in before I get ready for the day.”
“Type A much?”
Elsa grins. “There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want.”
“Is there a kid sister in there, too? Because my pants are still in you dryer.”
Elsa laughs. “She’s on her way to dance class, actually. Help yourself. I’ll be in the shower.”
She steps into the bathroom, closing, but not latching, the door behind her. When I hear the water start to run, my cock thickens against my thigh.
I slide out of bed, but don’t go to the kitchen. I walk into the bathroom, which is already filling with steam. Elsa’s running clothes are discarded in a heap on the floor. Through the steam, I can see her naked body under the spray of the shower.
Coffee sounds good.
I can think of something that sounds much fucking better, though.
She gasps when I open the glass door and step in behind her. She whimpers when my lips crush to hers.
Then she moans when I pin her to shower wall and guide my cock between her legs.
I’m not a morning person.
But I’m pretty sure she could turn me into one.
* * *
There’sone thing bothering me about last night. I didn’t bring it up with her at the time, because I was havingwaytoo good a time with her.
But now, I would very much like to know why Elsa looked so fucking cornered and scared while she was talking to Gavan Tsarenko.
And I’m about to find out.
