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I sigh, still high from my quick orgasm, and hook my handcuffed wrists around the back of his neck. He taps my butt lightly and slips his hands up my back to my shoulders. One goes farther, cupping the back of my head, and he rocks his hips against me.
He fucks me deep and slow, hard and easy. He fucks me with passion and love mixed into both his thrusts and his kiss. He fucks me until there isn’t a part of me not crying out for the release, until there isn’t a part of my skin that doesn’t want to be against his.
Until we’re slicked with sweat. Until our breaths mingle so closely that they become one. Until my cries drown out his own low groans.
My pussy tightens around his cock and he changes his pace, going from slow to fast in seconds. The relentless final pounds are all it takes, and I come apart, his name a sobbed cry on my lips.
Because it’s too much.
The force of his love washes over me with more of a hit than the orgasm. I feel it wholly, and I feel mine. I feel it over addiction, over cravings, over everything else I feared at the start.
But I feared the wrong thing. I feared addiction when I should have feared love, because it won’t be addiction that breaks me.
It wasn’t addiction that hurt when we were apart. It wasn’t a craving for his touch or his skin that scarred me.
It was love.
It was my heart that was broken, my soul that needed healing.
My love for him runs deeper than my addiction. Addiction can be cured. It can be eased. It can even be erased entirely. You can’t do that with love. It’s incurable. Nothing but the power of another love can rid your heart of it.
And that’s the be-all, end-all.
I’m addicted to Tyler, yes. I’m addicted to the way his voice sounds and the way my skin buzzes when he touches me. But I’m in love with his smile and the way he looks at me. I’m in love with the way he forgets to put the toilet seat down and the way he thinks I won’t notice his dirty socks stuffed behind the laundry hamper.
I’m in love with him, completely and utterly, entirely and wholly.
I wrap my arms around myself as I watch my now-married best friend glide across the dance floor with her new husband. Eight years coming. Seven years of pain. One year of happiness.
I’m struck with how much she deserved it. Coincidence—or fate, if you believe in that—brought them together after so long. And the smile on her face as she looks into his eyes tugs at my heart.
Love.
Quite simply, love. Nothing more and nothing less.
Tyler steps up behind me and slides his arm around my waist. His fingers tickle across the side of the tiny bump growing. “About time, don’t you think?”
I smile. “It took them long enough. Personally, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with Bridezilla anymore.”
He laughs quietly. “Aren’t we all?”
“Aaron especially,” I respond, my own laughter bubbling up.
Tyler leans in closer, his mouth hovering above my ear. “I have something to show you.”
“What did you break?” I jerk my face round.
“Nothing!” He laughs. “Just follow me, okay?”
I frown but let him take my hand and sneak us out of the ballroom. The evening summer breeze blows my hair, the warmth nice across my bare shoulders.
“Where are we going?”
We stop by a giant water fountain. He pushes some wayward hair from my face and tries a smile.
“Do you trust me?”
I frown again. “You know I do.”
