Read Online Addicted by Charlotte Stein - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlotte Stein
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then I’ll just look like an idiot who’s imagining feelings that aren’t really there. It’s the first step towards lovesickness – wanting to be sorry for hurt you might have caused.
And he’ll know it, and laugh.
He’s laughing now, as he plunges on into the story.
‘Yeah, I thought I was hot stuff. So when she said, “Oh, I want it all right,” I preened like nothing else. I didn’t think a single thing to her telling me to strip. I thought my body was hot and she just wanted to see it, so I took off my T-shirt, I took off my shorts. By the time I was down to nothing, I was practically mute with excitement. My cock was almost touching my belly, and everything felt real swollen down there, you know?’
I do know. I’m so swollen in that same place I can hardly keep my legs closed. It’s like trying to fit myself around a burning coal – though I think I keep the signs to a minimum. I’m so hot I’d love to fan myself with my notepad, but I resist. I don’t even run a finger around my clammy collar, and I definitely don’t remove my jacket.
My nipples are too stiff for something like that. They’re showing through my shirt, and I know it – though I’ve got less idea about the
why
. The story isn’t even that exciting, really. I’ve heard lots like it a dozen times before. He’s going to nail her, now, then write. ‘Dear
Penthouse
’ on the top and mail that sucker in. He’s going to show me what an incredible stud he was, because he could fuck her like her husband never could.
Or at least that’s what I’m sure of, before he tells me the rest.
‘But she didn’t touch me. She didn’t sink to her knees the way I’d always imagined she would. She said: “Do you know how to make a woman come, Dillon?”
‘And now, every time I’m flicking through the catalogue of every sexy thing that’s ever happened to me … every time I’m on the brink and I need to pull out something intense to really get there … that’s what I think about. I think about that one sentence, like a siren’s song. “Do you know how to make a woman come, Dillon?”
‘I couldn’t even tell her yes. I knew it was a lie. In every fantasy I’d ever had about her, she’d screamed like a porn star and lapsed into unconsciousness the second my cock touched her, but I never stopped to think how or why. I assumed my dick was the magical key to a winter wonderland, but when I tried to show her I could do it, when I tried to climb on top of her like some fumbling fucking idiot, she stopped me in my tracks.
‘She waved her red-tipped finger in my face – and I always remember that, too. I remember her pressing me to my knees with just that one talon on my big shoulder.
‘Then she said more words that still send a burst of arousal through me, now: “Lick your fingers. Lick your fingers, baby.” Like she was the one with swagger, and I was just her little cutie-pie, ready to be serviced. And I can remember feeling like I didn’t want to – I was sulking, then, I guess. I was thinking she was messing around with me.
‘But the weird thing was – that didn’t make it any less hot. In fact, it made it hotter. My cock actually jerked when she said those barely-anything words. I was kind of bothered by the mess I was making all over her carpet – I was absolutely dripping by this point.
‘And I was shaking. I was really shaking. Putting my fingers in my mouth felt like the most erotic thing I’d ever done. Like I was sucking myself. Like I had nerve-endings there that I didn’t know about. I actually got lost in the feel of them, sliding in and out of my mouth.
‘Until she lay back on the bed, and spread her legs.
‘Of course, I’d seen pussy before – in magazines. In pornos. But it’s kinda not the same, don’t you think? Have you ever looked at yourself, when you’re aroused? It’s not the bleached, waxed, perfectly positioned and pert thing from porn, as dry as the Sahara and hardly a notch
And he’ll know it, and laugh.
He’s laughing now, as he plunges on into the story.
‘Yeah, I thought I was hot stuff. So when she said, “Oh, I want it all right,” I preened like nothing else. I didn’t think a single thing to her telling me to strip. I thought my body was hot and she just wanted to see it, so I took off my T-shirt, I took off my shorts. By the time I was down to nothing, I was practically mute with excitement. My cock was almost touching my belly, and everything felt real swollen down there, you know?’
I do know. I’m so swollen in that same place I can hardly keep my legs closed. It’s like trying to fit myself around a burning coal – though I think I keep the signs to a minimum. I’m so hot I’d love to fan myself with my notepad, but I resist. I don’t even run a finger around my clammy collar, and I definitely don’t remove my jacket.
My nipples are too stiff for something like that. They’re showing through my shirt, and I know it – though I’ve got less idea about the
why
. The story isn’t even that exciting, really. I’ve heard lots like it a dozen times before. He’s going to nail her, now, then write. ‘Dear
Penthouse
’ on the top and mail that sucker in. He’s going to show me what an incredible stud he was, because he could fuck her like her husband never could.
Or at least that’s what I’m sure of, before he tells me the rest.
‘But she didn’t touch me. She didn’t sink to her knees the way I’d always imagined she would. She said: “Do you know how to make a woman come, Dillon?”
‘And now, every time I’m flicking through the catalogue of every sexy thing that’s ever happened to me … every time I’m on the brink and I need to pull out something intense to really get there … that’s what I think about. I think about that one sentence, like a siren’s song. “Do you know how to make a woman come, Dillon?”
‘I couldn’t even tell her yes. I knew it was a lie. In every fantasy I’d ever had about her, she’d screamed like a porn star and lapsed into unconsciousness the second my cock touched her, but I never stopped to think how or why. I assumed my dick was the magical key to a winter wonderland, but when I tried to show her I could do it, when I tried to climb on top of her like some fumbling fucking idiot, she stopped me in my tracks.
‘She waved her red-tipped finger in my face – and I always remember that, too. I remember her pressing me to my knees with just that one talon on my big shoulder.
‘Then she said more words that still send a burst of arousal through me, now: “Lick your fingers. Lick your fingers, baby.” Like she was the one with swagger, and I was just her little cutie-pie, ready to be serviced. And I can remember feeling like I didn’t want to – I was sulking, then, I guess. I was thinking she was messing around with me.
‘But the weird thing was – that didn’t make it any less hot. In fact, it made it hotter. My cock actually jerked when she said those barely-anything words. I was kind of bothered by the mess I was making all over her carpet – I was absolutely dripping by this point.
‘And I was shaking. I was really shaking. Putting my fingers in my mouth felt like the most erotic thing I’d ever done. Like I was sucking myself. Like I had nerve-endings there that I didn’t know about. I actually got lost in the feel of them, sliding in and out of my mouth.
‘Until she lay back on the bed, and spread her legs.
‘Of course, I’d seen pussy before – in magazines. In pornos. But it’s kinda not the same, don’t you think? Have you ever looked at yourself, when you’re aroused? It’s not the bleached, waxed, perfectly positioned and pert thing from porn, as dry as the Sahara and hardly a notch
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