Addicted

JAMES'S POV

I couldn't stop thinking about Saturday.

The memory played on repeat: Carol beneath me, those dark eyes watching as I'd spread her legs. The way she'd tried to close them, suddenly shy despite the boldness that had brought her to my house. The taste of her on my tongue. The sounds she'd made when I'd sucked her clit.

Christ.

I'd been half-hard since I woke up this morning, anticipating this afternoon. The memory of her grinding against my face, chasing her orgasm with desperate abandon, was permanently burned into my brain. I'd made women come before—plenty of times—but watching Carol lose control had been different. More intense. More satisfying than anything I'd experienced in years.

Maybe it was because I hadn't realized how much I wanted her until I had her. Maybe it was because she wanted me with equal intensity. Or maybe it was just that she was young and responsive and everything my marriage hadn't been for the last decade.

I didn't care about the why anymore. I just wanted more. And I was going to have more.

By 2 PM, I heard the knock. The way I felt caught me by surprise—like a teenager whose crush was coming over, nervous and excited in equal measure. The feeling was new, or at least forgotten, and I liked it more than I should have.

I opened the door, and there she was. Looking innocent and beautiful in a way that made my chest tighten. Every uncertainty I might have felt, every last shred of doubt, slipped away the moment I saw her face.

"Get in here," I said, already reaching for her.

CAROL

The moment she entered the room and heard the door close behind her, he pulled her against him and kissed her with a possessive urgency that took her breath away. The desperation in his kiss, the ownership, scared her a little—but she leaned into it anyway, matching his intensity with her own.

As he kissed her, his hands worked at the buttons of her shirt, fumbling with urgency, pulling at the fabric. He stopped for a brief moment, his forehead pressed against hers, his breathing heavy.

"I don't plan to be gentle," he said, his voice rough.

She remembered her resolve from Saturday—how she'd held back, tried to be quiet, tried to maintain some semblance of control. Not this time.

"I don't want you to be," she replied.

That was the only invitation he needed.

He stripped away her clothes with an urgency that bordered on violence, buttons scattering, fabric tearing slightly in his haste. Then he pushed her toward the bed, and she fell back onto the mattress, her heart racing.

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching her as he slowly began to undress. There was no mistaking who was in control here. His movements were deliberate, calculated, designed to make her wait and watch and want.

She let her eyes wander over his body as it was revealed—the broad chest, the defined shoulders, the lines of muscle that spoke of a man who took care of himself. Her gaze traveled lower, and she saw how hard he was for her. The sight made her breath catch. She'd almost forgotten the size of him, and a flutter of nervousness mixed with anticipation settled in her stomach.

She kept her eyes on him intently as he climbed onto the bed and moved toward her. He stopped between her legs, using his hands to spread them wider, positioning himself. Her breath hitched. She braced herself for what she knew was coming.

"Relax," he said softly.

And then, contrary to what he'd promised, he was gentle.

He leaned down and kissed her—slowly, tenderly. It was the most gentle and affectionate kiss she'd ever received from him, and it made something in her chest tighten and expand all at once. Her heart stirred with feelings she wasn't ready to name.

She felt him press against her, and instinctively she raised her hips, trying to draw him closer. She felt his chest rumble with a quiet chuckle against her lips.

He raised his head, and she could see the restraint in his eyes, the effort it was costing him to go slow.

"I want you," she whispered.

"I know," he replied, his voice strained.

He bent his head and kissed her neck lightly, and she gasped audibly, the sensation sending shivers down her spine.

"Seems like I've found your sweet spot," he murmured against her skin.

All she could do was moan as he continued his attention on her neck, kissing both sides, learning what made her gasp and shiver. She tried to push him away—it was too much, too intense—but he caught both her wrists and pinned them gently above her head, holding her in place while he continued his exploration.

He made his way down to her breasts, kissing the sensitive flesh, his mouth finding her nipples. The sensation made her gasp and arch beneath him, her hips pushing up toward his, seeking friction, seeking more. She tried to break free from his hold, but he tightened his grip on her wrists.

"Please, James, please," she begged, frustration and need tangled together.

He didn't answer with words, just continued his deliberate attention, taking his time, making her wait.

Finally, he stopped and looked down at her face—flushed, frustrated, desperate—and laughed softly.

She felt a flash of anger and tried to push him off. "You're torturing me," she said breathlessly.

"Calm down, tiger," he said, amusement in his voice as he held her in place.

Then his hand moved lower, and the teasing shifted to something more direct. She felt him positioning himself, and her entire body tensed in anticipation.

"You're so wet," he said, his voice rough with desire.

She pushed her hips forward, silently begging, but he took his time, drawing out the moment until she thought she might actually cry from frustration.

Finally, finally, she felt him begin to enter her.

“You’re so tight baby girl” she felt herself smile, she loved that he called her baby girl, she tried moving beneath him but he said “Don’t” and she stopped, he resumed moving really slowly, and it was the most intense and pleasurable feeling she had ever felt, she wrapped her legs around her as he moved, his head was nuzzled in her neck, holding her in a bear hug then she said “Please, I want to watch your face” he obliged and raised his head up, and she watched his face intently, then he gave an evil grin and increased his tempo, she threw her head back as she moaned really loudly, she heard his grunts and moans and that fueled her on, he continued thrusting deeper and harder, she tried to be quiet, but it was almost impossible, he continued, till his movements became erratic and she knew he was close. Finally he gave one final loud grunt and then he collapsed against her

They lay joined together afterward, her fingers playing absently in his hair, both of them breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. The afternoon light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting the room in a golden glow.

Then suddenly, he tensed and pulled away from her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, confused by the sudden shift.

"I didn't use a condom," he said, his voice tight with realization.

For a moment, the words hung in the air. Then, inexplicably, Carol found herself laughing. It started as a giggle and quickly escalated into full hysterical laughter, the tension and intimacy and absurdity of the situation all colliding at once.

James stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "This isn't funny, Carol."

"I know, I know," she gasped between laughs, trying to catch her breath. "It's just—we've been so careful about everything else. Kate, the secrecy, the hotel room. And then we just—"

"Forgot the most basic thing," he finished, running a hand through his hair. He looked genuinely distressed.

Her laughter finally subsided, and she reached for his hand. "I'm on birth control," she said. "Have been for two years. For my periods, they're awful without it."

She watched the tension drain from his shoulders, relief flooding his features.

"You should have led with that," he said, but there was a hint of a smile now.

"And miss seeing you panic?" She grinned. "Not a chance."

He pulled her back against him, tucking her head under his chin. "You're terrible."

"You like it."

"I do," he admitted quietly. "God help me, I really do."

They lay in silence for a few moments, the weight of what they'd just done settling over them. This had been different from Saturday. More intimate. More real. The barrier between them—literally and figuratively—had dissolved completely.

"We should talk about this," James said eventually. "The birth control is good, but we should still be careful. We should—"

"James," Carol interrupted, tilting her head to look at him. "Can we not do the responsible adult conversation right this second? Can we just... be here for a little while?"

He looked down at her, and something in his expression softened. "Yeah," he said. "We can do that."

She settled back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. Outside, the city continued its normal Monday afternoon rhythm—people working, running errands, living their ordinary lives. Inside this room, time felt suspended, separate from reality.

Carol knew they'd have to leave eventually. Have to go back to their real lives, to the careful choreography of avoiding suspicion, to Kate and all the reasons this was impossible.

But for now, in this hotel room with the curtains drawn and the world shut out, she let herself pretend that this was enough. That afternoons like this could sustain them.

That nothing would ever have to change.