Read Online And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) by Delilah Frost - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Delilah Frost
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I don’t know if anyone will visit him. I’d hate for him to be stuck there alone.
“General. But man, you have to be family to go in,” Toby tells me reading my thoughts.
I feel my stomach drop. I should have known that, especially after visiting Ben. Depending on the severity of his injuries, visitors are restricted. Fuck.
“You still not fighting?” Brees asks me and I look at him for a moment, thinking.
What can I do here? I can’t visit and I don’t know where Stretch lives. There is nothing I can do.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good just watching tonight.”
As Brees and Toby walk away, I again reflect on how little I know about the people around me. I always thought Celia was closed off, but I can’t help thinking, I may be just as bad.
SEVEN
It feels like old times. It feels like everything that went down, the lies, rumors, betrayal, is nothing but a figment of my twisted imagination. Like none of the bad existed. None of the wrong ever happened.
There’s laughter and mockery. There’s easy taunts and jokes.
There’s shit talk and battles for dominance.
It’s all like old times.
I am still the alpha of this crew. At least in terms of ability.
Once more, I’m tops on the podium every Friday and Saturday night. I’m collecting the cash, taking home the girl, and being envied by those who gather to watch.
It’s a luxurious way to live. If it wasn’t all a bunch of bullshit.
But I keep my mouth shut. Because it’s no use otherwise.
It all feels like old times but it also feels like the exact opposite.
I see Cecelia nearly daily.
I see her and I salivate over her. I see her and I need to have her.
But I also anguish.
Because I’m not the only one who feels this way.
She attends my fights regularly. She shows up and supports me to a win and then when the night is over, we go back to my place and fuck. Because that’s what it is. Fucking.
Even in the moments where it’s gentler, sweeter, there’s an undertone of something I can’t put my finger on. Because it’s not just in the moments when we’re together, tangling up my sheets as moans coat the walls. But also in the look I see on her face. The flashes I see flit through her caramel eyes when she thinks I’m not paying attention. When she thinks I don’t notice.
If I wasn’t intimately acquainted with her body, knowing every inch of skin, or if I hadn’t seen firsthand how she reacted to coke, I’d wonder if she was using again. But I touch her. I feel her. I explore her body and can taste the sobriety. So I know it’s not that.
She’s not overrun and out of control. She’s very controlled. And the wild side I see, it has a purpose behind it. Though I can’t understand it.
But it is something. And that something has made everything change. It’s made everything uneasy. It’s made everything frail in the face of strength.
For a long time after our sensuous reintroduction, she’d show up to the fights in her work uniform. Tight black pants, tight t-shirt, clinging to curves that make me hard and crazy and lustful. She never went home to change. Even once the weather heated up. She trudged through the warmth.
But then things did change in that regard. And her clothes did too in reflection.
Gone was the uniform and in its place her favorite jean skirt, too short for proper company, or short shorts that make me – and every other fucker who sees them – groan aloud. Then there are the jeans that seem to mold to her legs like a second skin and make me want to pull them off her with my teeth. Of course, each outfit is complete with layered undershirts showing off her bright collection of bras and the beautiful breasts they cover.
While Cecelia had always worn risqué clothing before, showing off her art on her back, or wearing skirts that are on the short side, she seems to have taken it all to the extreme. True she isn’t dressing like the groupies, flashing body parts on purpose in a play to snag a guy,
“General. But man, you have to be family to go in,” Toby tells me reading my thoughts.
I feel my stomach drop. I should have known that, especially after visiting Ben. Depending on the severity of his injuries, visitors are restricted. Fuck.
“You still not fighting?” Brees asks me and I look at him for a moment, thinking.
What can I do here? I can’t visit and I don’t know where Stretch lives. There is nothing I can do.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good just watching tonight.”
As Brees and Toby walk away, I again reflect on how little I know about the people around me. I always thought Celia was closed off, but I can’t help thinking, I may be just as bad.
SEVEN
It feels like old times. It feels like everything that went down, the lies, rumors, betrayal, is nothing but a figment of my twisted imagination. Like none of the bad existed. None of the wrong ever happened.
There’s laughter and mockery. There’s easy taunts and jokes.
There’s shit talk and battles for dominance.
It’s all like old times.
I am still the alpha of this crew. At least in terms of ability.
Once more, I’m tops on the podium every Friday and Saturday night. I’m collecting the cash, taking home the girl, and being envied by those who gather to watch.
It’s a luxurious way to live. If it wasn’t all a bunch of bullshit.
But I keep my mouth shut. Because it’s no use otherwise.
It all feels like old times but it also feels like the exact opposite.
I see Cecelia nearly daily.
I see her and I salivate over her. I see her and I need to have her.
But I also anguish.
Because I’m not the only one who feels this way.
She attends my fights regularly. She shows up and supports me to a win and then when the night is over, we go back to my place and fuck. Because that’s what it is. Fucking.
Even in the moments where it’s gentler, sweeter, there’s an undertone of something I can’t put my finger on. Because it’s not just in the moments when we’re together, tangling up my sheets as moans coat the walls. But also in the look I see on her face. The flashes I see flit through her caramel eyes when she thinks I’m not paying attention. When she thinks I don’t notice.
If I wasn’t intimately acquainted with her body, knowing every inch of skin, or if I hadn’t seen firsthand how she reacted to coke, I’d wonder if she was using again. But I touch her. I feel her. I explore her body and can taste the sobriety. So I know it’s not that.
She’s not overrun and out of control. She’s very controlled. And the wild side I see, it has a purpose behind it. Though I can’t understand it.
But it is something. And that something has made everything change. It’s made everything uneasy. It’s made everything frail in the face of strength.
For a long time after our sensuous reintroduction, she’d show up to the fights in her work uniform. Tight black pants, tight t-shirt, clinging to curves that make me hard and crazy and lustful. She never went home to change. Even once the weather heated up. She trudged through the warmth.
But then things did change in that regard. And her clothes did too in reflection.
Gone was the uniform and in its place her favorite jean skirt, too short for proper company, or short shorts that make me – and every other fucker who sees them – groan aloud. Then there are the jeans that seem to mold to her legs like a second skin and make me want to pull them off her with my teeth. Of course, each outfit is complete with layered undershirts showing off her bright collection of bras and the beautiful breasts they cover.
While Cecelia had always worn risqué clothing before, showing off her art on her back, or wearing skirts that are on the short side, she seems to have taken it all to the extreme. True she isn’t dressing like the groupies, flashing body parts on purpose in a play to snag a guy,
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