Addiction(10 Dark/Erotic Stories Part1)

Addicted to his touch-2

I spent a few hours with my mom, cooking enough food to last her a few days till I came back. Left some cash in her drawer too, just in case she needed anything.

Before I left, I checked on her. She was asleep on the sofa, blanket half off her shoulder. I fixed it, kissed her forehead, and left quietly.

My apartment door was unlocked when I got home. My stomach dropped. Did someone break in? Or did I just forget to lock it?

“Welcome.”

I froze at the voice. Flipped the light on and there he was, standing in my living room as if he owned it.

.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping in and locking the door behind me.

“I came to make sure you got satisfied. I know you still want it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.” He stepped closer, and I hated that I didn’t step back. “I wasn’t going to let you spend your Saturday night alone and unsatisfied, thinking about Monday. About me.”

I wanted to say no. The word sat right there on my tongue and I couldn’t get it to move.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, slowly, like he had all the patience in the world now that he had already won. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I didn’t say anything. That was enough answer for him.

He kissed me so hard. And God help me, my hands found his shirt before my brain caught up, fisting the fabric, pulling him in instead of pushing him away. I hated the sound that came out of me. I hated how much I wanted it.

“See,” he murmured against my mouth, walking me back toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, like he’d memorized the layout of my apartment just from standing in the doorway once. “Your mouth says no. Your body’s been saying yes since it felt me.’’

I didn’t have an answer for that either. I never did anymore.

He pushed me down on the bed and climbed over me, yanking my hoodie over my head and tossing it somewhere behind him. His mouth went from my lips to my jaw, then down to my neck, and I tilted my head back to give him more room even while some part of me hated myself for it.

“You smell like your mom’s place,” he said against my skin. “Lavender.”

“Don’t talk about my mom right now.”

He laughed, low, and let it drop, kissing lower instead — down my collarbone, over the curve of my breast, taking his time there until my back arched on its own. He unhooked my bra without asking, tossed it, and put his mouth right back where it had been, tongue circling my n****e until I was gripping his hair just to have something to hold onto.

He worked my jeans down next, slow, dragging his mouth down my stomach as he went, and by the time they hit the floor my breathing was already a mess. His fingers found me first, right through my underwear, rubbing slow circles until the fabric was soaked through and I was lifting my hips into his hand without meaning to. He pulled my underwear off last, and when his mouth replaced his fingers I grabbed a fistful of the sheets, back off the mattress, every nerve in my body lit up at once.

He didn’t rush it. His tongue sucked my c**t slowly, then faster when I started shaking, two fingers curling inside me until I was right on the edge and begging him not to stop. I came against his mouth with my thighs locked around his head, and he didn’t let up until I pushed him away.

He climbed back up my body, and I could feel exactly how hard he was through his shorts before he took them off. He didn’t waste time after that, he pushed into me in one slow stroke that had me gasping his name before I could stop myself, and set a rhythm that had the headboard knocking against the wall within a minute. His d**k went deeper and deeper and I gasped. I wrapped my legs around him, nails dragging down his back, and lost track of everything except the drag of him inside me, the weight of him over me, the way he said my name.

I don’t know how long we were on that bed. Long enough that my legs were shaking after. Long enough my voice went hoarse from all the noise I made. He finished with his forehead pressed to mine, both of us out of breath, and for one second, it almost felt like something other than what it was.

“Shower,” he said against my temple, already pulling me up by the hand.

I didn’t argue. I was too f****d out to.

He turned the water on and pulled me in right behind him, both of us gasping as the first cold burst hit before it finally ran hot.

He pushed me back against the tile — cold against my back and kissed me, his hands already cupping my boobs.

“Again?” I got out, breathless, water running down my face.

“Yeah .”

He turned me around, pressed my chest to the tile, and I felt him line up behind me before he pushed in slow, one hand braced on the wall beside my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I moaned into my own arm, water pouring over both of us, and he set a pace that had me pushing back against him just to feel more of it. He reached around and found my c**t again, pressing hard circles on it, and I came a second time with my forehead against the tile and his name breaking apart in my mouth.

He finished right after, groaning against the back of my neck, both of us gripping the wall to stay standing. Neither of us moved for a second after. The water went cold and neither of us noticed.

We stumbled out wrapped in towels, still half wet, and fell straight into bed. My head landed on his chest before I decided if I wanted it there. His arm came around me like it was routine now, not new. I was out in minutes, too drained to hate him properly anymore.

When I woke up, his side of the bed was cold. Empty. Like he was never there — except for the dent in the pillow, and the ache in my body saying otherwise.