Addiction(10 Dark/Erotic Stories Part1)

Addicted to his touch-3

I got up to pee first, still half asleep, my body sore in a way that reminded me exactly how last night went. I brushed my teeth and rinsed my face. I stood there staring at myself in the mirror a second too long, not sure what I was even looking for.

Breakfast first. I wasn’t dealing with any of this on an empty stomach.

I had eggs going on the cooker when my phone buzzed on the counter. His name on the screen.

Can’t wait to have you tomorrow at the office.

Disgust hit first, same as always. Then, before I could stop it, a smile snuck onto my face and something low in my stomach pulled tight. I hated that more than the text itself. I flipped the eggs harder than I needed to, like it would shut the feeling up.

It took me straight back to the first time. That one never left, no matter how many times I tried to bury it.

It happened in his office, on a Thursday, three days after he told me I’d be job hunting again if I said no to him. He called me in over some file that didn’t exist, and the second the door clicked shut I knew. He didn’t bother pretending otherwise. Just walked over, turned me by the shoulder, and bent me over his desk like we’d already agreed on it.

I cried. Real crying, ugly and loud, cheek pressed flat to the cold wood while he undid his belt behind me like my crying was just noise in the background. I begged him to stop. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, just gathered my hair in his fist and told me to relax.

He pushed inside me and I sobbed into my own arm. The first few thrusts were just pain, and the desk creaking under us, and him breathing steady like none of it touched him. I hated him with everything in me right then. I hated myself more for already being wet enough that it didn’t hurt the way I wanted it to.

Somewhere in the middle of the crying, the sound coming out of me started changing. Sobs still there, but something else creeping in under them. He noticed before I did.

“There it is,” he said, not even out of breath, hips still moving. “Somewhere under all that crying.”

“Shut up,” I got out, except it came out broken, nothing like the order I meant.

“Cry all you want,” he said. “Your body already told the truth.”

Hated that he was right. By the time he finished I wasn’t crying anymore, I was moaning, hands fisted in my own hair instead of pushing him off, chasing it instead of running.

He came, tucked himself back in, fixed his tie in the window’s reflection like nothing happened, and walked out without a word. Didn’t help me up. Didn’t look back. Left me bent over that desk to gather myself alone — mascara down my face, legs shaking, hating every sound I’d made.

I beat myself up over it for weeks after. Still do, if I’m honest. Not for the part where he forced it — I never had trouble hating him for that. For the part where, somewhere in the middle of hating it, I stopped.

My body never apologized for that, and I never forgave it either.

Ate my eggs cold, appetite mostly gone, rinsed the plate, and got in the shower.

The water was warm. I stood under it for a while, just letting it hit my shoulders, trying to wash the memory off along with everything else.

My hand slid lower without much of a decision behind it — soap down my stomach, my hip, between my legs. My fingers slowed right over my c**t and I bit down on my lip, his text still sitting in my head and for one second I let myself picture it was his hand instead of mine.

Caught myself right after, yanked my hand back like the water had gone cold, disgusted with myself for how close I’d gotten to finishing what one stupid text had started.

Shut the water off harder than I needed to and grabbed my towel.

My phone buzzed again while I was drying off. Not him this time. Tasha.

Girl are you even alive? You’ve been MIA all weekend.

I almost laughed. If she only knew what MIA actually meant in my case.

I’m alive, I typed back. Just tired. Long week coming up.

Same. Coffee before work tomorrow? I need the tea on why you’ve been ghosting me lol

I stared at that for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen. Tasha didn’t know any of it, not him, not the job, none of it. As far as she knew I’d just been quiet lately, buried in work. I wanted to keep it that way. Some things I wasn’t ready to say out loud, not even to my best friend. Maybe especially not to her.

Coffee sounds good, I typed instead. 7:00?

Perfect. Don’t be late, girl.

I put the phone down and caught myself in the mirror again, towel wrapped around me, hair still dripping. Tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow was him, in that office, in the same building where all of this started. I still didn’t know if I was dreading it or counting down to it, and that right there was the whole problem.

I laid my outfit out while my hair air-dried — the navy blazer, the one that made me feel like I had my life together even when I clearly didn’t. Set it over the chair next to the blouse I always second-guessed wearing around him, because of the way his eyes tracked the buttons, and wore anyway more often than I’d admit.

……………

Got in bed earlier than usual, phone on the charger, alarm set for six. Sleep didn’t come right away. I lay there staring at the ceiling, his text looping in my head, some small stupid part of me had already started counting down the hours.

By the time I finally dropped off, I still hadn’t figured out which version of me was walking into that office tomorrow. The one who hated him. Or the one who’d stopped being able to tell the difference.