Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
I blink at him. “What if I want to know yours, too?”
Tyler dips his head and kisses the tender spot below my ear. “I’ll tell you mine if you promise to tell me yours,” he whispers.
“You first?”
He nods, pulling his head back, and looks at me. “You promise?”
“I promise,” I say on an exhale.
He pushes off the door and waves a hand over his shoulder for me to follow.
This whole conversation feels like something out of elementary school. Bargaining for what you want. Bribing. Promises.
Except, this time, the stakes are higher.
“Sit. Drink?” He pulls open his large fridge.
“Water, please. Driving,” I remind him when he glances at me.
“One glass won’t hurt you, Liv. And if you really don’t want to drive, I’ll call a car to take you home and bring you back in the morning to get your car.”
“I—”
“Love to fight me on every little fucking thing,” he finishes with a smirk. He hands me the wine, grabs a beer, and ushers me into his front room.
The brown, leather sofa curves around the corner of the room, and the glass coffee table in front of it has more than one mark on it. My lips quirk at the thought of him spilling something on it and wiping it with his hand, leaving the smears on the surface. There’s even an empty cookie bag on the table.
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“So I need to tidy a little. I wasn’t expecting company.” He takes my glass and sets it on the table. “Sit down.”
I ease myself down onto the plush sofa, but apparently I’m moving too slowly, because he grabs my waist and pulls me back. I shriek, clapping my hand over my mouth as I fall back onto the sofa. Tyler laughs, one of his arms still around me. I elbow him and smack his chest at the same time.
“You asshole.”
He grins. “It loosened you up, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I admit, pulling my legs up to my chest. “It did.”
“So.”
“So you said you’d go first. Tell me your secret, Tyler Stone.”
“I’m a sex addict.”
A sex addict?
Another addictive personality? Oh, fucking shit. Just when I thought this situation couldn’t get worse, he admits that. And not just any addictive personality—one addicted to a physical act.
This cements in my mind that I can’t see him. How can I? He’s addicted to sex. I’m addicted to love. What a fucking hoo-haa.
I push away from him on the sofa, but this time, he doesn’t grab me back. He keeps his eyes on mine and talks.
“I’m aware of it, and I accept it. It’s not a problem for me—mostly. The problem isn’t the addiction. It’s what I want from sex. I want more than what one-night stands can give me, and I don’t mean a relationship. I want someone who’s not bothered about committing anything other than her body. I want—need—someone who can open herself to me and accept what I want. That I need more than just vanilla.”
“Is that… Is that why you said what you said to me?” I swallow.
He nods. “You’re fiery, Liv. I don’t believe you’re happy with good, old vanilla sex. At least not all the time.”
My dream flashes in my mind again. He’s right—if I were, I wouldn’t be dreaming of him tying me to my bedpost with a scarf while he goes down on me. I wouldn’t be dreaming of being blindfolded on my knees while I wrap my lips around his cock.
I reach out and grab the wine. My clit throbs at my thoughts. I take a long drink from the glass, somehow emptying it, and run my fingers through my hair.
“You’d be right,” I say, my throat like sandpaper despite the wine. “But that’s not the problem.” I stand, walking over to the window. I push aside the dark curtain and stare out at the city.
“Then tell me what it is, babe. I’m fucked if you don’t. There’s nothing I can do.” He comes up behind me and rests his hands on the windowsill, blocking me in. “I told you. Now it’s your turn.”
I push his arm away and spin out of his grasp, once again running my fingers through my hair as I struggle to put the words together in a sentence that’s oh so simple.
“What is the problem, Liv?”
I stop and close my eyes. “You’re addicted to sex”—I open them again—“and I’m addicted to love.”
He stops. Freezes. His eyes widen a tiny amount. Enough that I notice it.
“I’m addicted to love and people. I get addicted to the sounds of people’s voices and the touches of their hands. I get addicted to their habits, their quirks. I am in love with love.”
“How is that possible?”
I shrug. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be addicted to it, would I? But that’s it. That’s why I sent the text. Because I cannot get addicted again. Not to someone like you,” I whisper. “You’re too dangerous. You’re too tempting for me.”