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9. Addicted to Him
Huling Na-update:
2025-08-02 13:44:48I woke up with the light of the city pouring through the windows, still wrapped in his arms, his breathing slow and deep against the back of my neck. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to break that moment. His body was pressed against mine—warm, solid, real. And for a moment, everything else just disappeared.
John didn’t say anything when he woke. He just brushed his lips across my bare shoulder, as if that was his way of saying good morning. As if that was all he needed. And it was enough. We had breakfast in silence. Not out of awkwardness, but because of that quiet kind of understanding that settles in when there’s no longer a need to pretend. He read something on his tablet, I sipped coffee and watched him, wondering when I became so addicted to his presence. To that way he filled a room without even trying. “You okay?” he asked, without lifting his eyes from the screen, though the smirk on his lips told me he was definitely watching me. “I haven’t slept like that in years,” I said, shrugging slightly. He nodded, like he already knew. He didn’t need to say anything. The night before had made it clear this wasn’t a game for him. And I didn’t want to keep pretending I could resist him. We spent the day together. We went for a walk, had lunch in a quiet corner of the city, and at no point did he really let me go. His hand kept finding mine. His gaze kept drifting back to my lips. And even when we laughed, the tension simmered beneath it all—desire, hungry and burning. When we returned to his apartment, there were no more pauses. He cornered me the second the door clicked shut, his mouth crashing onto mine with a barely contained urgency. This time, there were no words—just breathless gasps and touches that lit up every inch of me. His hands slid down my waist, my back, my neck. He lifted me effortlessly, pressing me against the wall as he kissed me with such intensity, I lost all sense of balance—physical and emotional. I tore his shirt off without thinking. He undressed me like he already knew every button, every zipper, every line. Like my body was no longer foreign territory. And it wasn’t. We’d wanted each other so badly, for so long, that when it finally happened, it exploded. No brakes. No hesitation. Clothes fell. Walls fell. We fell. On the floor, against the wall, on the couch—it didn’t matter where. We explored each other with hands, mouths, eyes. As if we needed proof this was real, that it was truly happening. And it was. “God, Cat…” he groaned against my neck. “You have no idea what you do to me.” “Then keep going,” I whispered in his ear. “Let me show you.” And he did. He made me forget my name. My fears. All the reasons I had to stop this. That night wasn’t soft. It was wild, raw, real. We devoured each other. And when we finally collapsed, tangled together, sweaty, breathless, I looked into his eyes and knew there was no turning back. “If this ruins me,” I whispered, barely audible, “then let it be worth it.” John smiled. That wicked, dangerous, tender smile. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. That I promise you.” And I believed him. Because he already was.
Pinakabagong kabanata
Shared Desires 73. Shared Obsession.
Cat narrates.There are no screams. No shattered glass or slammed furniture. But the silence flowing from the hallway is even more brutal. The whole house seems to hold its breath as they finally face each other—no masks, no courtesy disguise, no hypocrisy of self-control. Their voices are low, tense, loaded with everything they didn’t say while they touched through me, while they competed with hands and mouths, while they loved without wanting to admit it hurt more than it aroused.“Do you want to possess her, or do you want to love her?” John asks, his voice deep, restrained, as if he can barely remain standing.“And you? Do you really love her, or do you just want to beat me?” Demon spits back, with that edge that sometimes caresses me like a dagger and other times cuts me without mercy.I’m on the stairs, tangled in a sheet, breathless. My heart pounds against my chest as if trying to escape this scene, but my legs don’t move. I stay there, drenched in what happened last night, my
Shared Desires 72. In My Bed, Under My Law
Narrated by John.I don’t care if last night was his turn.I don’t care if they made that ridiculous twenty-four-hour rule.I don’t care if he tied her up, if he talked dirty to her, if he tore moans out of her until dawn.Today is my day.My bed.My law.And I want her only for myself.I see her walking down the hallway, barefoot, wrapped in one of my shirts, her hair still damp from the shower. There are new marks on her thighs, on her neck. Some are mine. Many are not. And even though she smiles softly, as if nothing’s broken, I’m shattered inside.When she stops in front of me, I don’t say a word. I just grab her by the waist and lift her off the ground. She lets out a small sigh, a mix of surprise and anticipation, and clings to my shoulders as I carry her into my room—the one Demon is not supposed to cross today. I drop her onto the bed as if she were mine.Because she is.Even if she denies it with her lips, her body still remembers how my name sounds when she screams it betwee
Shared Desires 71. Someone’s Going to Break
Tension hangs in the air like the scent of a fresh wound.The beach house is too big, too perfect, and yet I feel every corner holds an echo of what we did last night. Of what we keep doing. Of what we can’t stop wanting, even knowing it will destroy us.I wake with my back pressed to John’s chest and my legs tangled with Demon’s, as if our bodies don’t know who they belong to, as if I haven’t been mine for days. As if they were two hells, and I was happy to burn in both.But today I need space. Air. Something more than skin and sweat and muffled moans.“Can we be alone for a while?” I whisper to John as he strokes my waist, as if he already knows I’m going to ask that.Demon says nothing. He gets up without looking at us, throws on some random shorts, and disappears down the hall. I hear him open a beer, even though it’s not yet noon. John looks at me. His face is a mix of affection and fatigue.“Of course,” he says. Kisses my forehead, as if we were still innocent.We sit on the ter
Shared Desires 7070. One Bed, Two Hells
I wake with skin stuck to dried sweat, my body still trembling inside though the air is unmoving. I’m between them, as if I were the sin that binds them. The sheet tangled around my legs, the golden sunlight slipping between the curtains, outlining the shape of their bodies: one breathes slow, almost absent, the other watches me with an intensity that disarms me. The air weighs more than my conscience.John kisses my shoulder with dangerous sweetness, as if nothing in the world had exploded, as if we weren’t broken inside. His breath grazes my collarbone, and that serene, almost tender gesture splits a crack in my chest. But Demon is not calm. Demon is an open wound. His hand slides up my thigh without asking, and his lips sink into my neck with a bite that isn’t a caress, it’s punishment, it’s a claim. And I say nothing. I don’t stop him.I can’t.We stay like this for minutes. Three bodies burning in a bed that no longer distinguishes love from war. My muscles still vibrate with las
Shared Desires 69. Guilty and Addicted
The press calls us depraved.On digital news sites, our faces are plastered under sensationalist headlines, cropped photos dripping with voyeurism, words trying to destroy what they don’t understand. “Sick threesome,” “immoral triangle,” “obsession of three bodies.”And yet, I see them now —see us— together, breathing the same air in this mansion by the sea, caught in a storm that isn’t meteorological but intimate, brutal, almost beautiful in its rawness.John’s house is a hidden jewel among the dunes: white marble, endless windows, the constant murmur of the ocean as background music. But no matter how luxurious it looks from the outside, it contradicts the electric tension that hums inside.I walk barefoot through the living room like a wounded animal, still wearing last night’s wrinkled dress, clinging to my skin like sweaty guilt. I bite my lip. I say nothing. My eyes are two storms spinning in opposite directions.John is leaning against the wall, silent, brow furrowed, fists cle
Shared Desires 68. Sin in Public
The lights at the gala are as bright as blades. Almost painful.The room is filled with perfect faces, dresses that shine brighter than the fake stars on the ceiling, and hollow smiles hiding sharp teeth.And there we are. John, in a suit black as a secret. Demon, with that razor-sharp arrogance in every step.Me, in the middle, wearing a red dress that feels more like a threat.“Don’t let go of me,” John whispers in my ear.His hand rests on the curve of my back—steady, but barely shaking.Demon circles us like a possessive shadow, never stopping his scan of everyone who comes near.The event is in his honor. Some charity thing, an art project, an excuse to prove that John Lambert isn’t just a billionaire CEO devouring his lovers—but also a generous, refined man, worthy of applause.But that illusion will last as long as a sigh.Because she’s here.“You see her?” Demon asks, voice like ice.“Yes,” I reply, without looking.I don’t have to. I can *smell* her. That sweet, poisonous ble
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