Addicted Series Novels & Stories

I wish I could run far away from my mother but she is the only family I have. I can no longer endure the weight on me, I'll have to speak and approach my mother calmly, I need to let her know that her addiction to gambling is slowly ruining my life. ****** Maria sat on the couch, a cigarette dangling from her lips as she stared at the television screen, momentarily her eyes fixated on the spinning reels of her money machine, me. After a long day at work I finally summoned enough courage to speak to my mother about her addiction. I shot the door against me and walked up to her. My expression stern and unreadable.

Positioning him right where I wanted him. “What the fuck is so addictive about this pussy that it drives me crazy?” he asked as his fingers slipped inside, the palm of his hand pressing against my clit. “The obnoxious mouth that comes with it?” He let out a low chuckle, his hand curling and drawing my hips off the seat. Sadly, it was then we pulled back up to the hotel and he removed his hand, making me whimper. If I didn’t watch it, I was bound to become addicted to him. Which, considering he was going to kill me, was a very bad idea.

He never wanted to stop, he had a new found addiction. Forbidden, but it felt so right and damn it he didn't give a fuck anymore.

Only by kissing them could one understand how wonderful they felt. One would become addicted and obsessed with them. However, why did he seem to be the only one addicted to it? Why was he still so easily influenced by her and could even go out of control?

And if he wants something he can do anything to make it his. what happen when the devil laid his eyes on a girl and decided to make the girl his? ➖➖➖➖➖ °•°•°•°•°•° ➖➖➖➖➖ COPYRIGHT ' Devil's Addiction ' All rights reserved. All Rights Reserved. No part of This book May be reproduced in any shape or form, without the writer's consent Events and characters Portrayed in This book is fictional. Any Similarities To a real person, living or dead,

"Well, it's a pretty sad story. Back in high school I had a drug addiction. When my father found out, he sent me to rehab. I often used to run away cause I needed to take care of Adrian. Little did I know she learnt how to do drugs from me. "When she had a cardiac arrest one day, I kinda woke up. I needed to be there for her. I needed to quit. So I quit drugs and cooking just stole my heart. I cooked to entertain myself and to cheer up Adrian. I've been clean for thirteen years now and I'm proud." "Wow, what a story. Must've been a tough journey," I commented. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it was." After dinner we had dessert. "What is this?" I asked.

But his tongue, sweet baby Jesus, his tongue in her mouth, doing things to her she never thought were even possible, kicked all her common sense out of the window. She pressed into him and flung her arms around his neck as she straddled him, her legs winding loosely around his waist. He tasted like insanely expensive cognac or bourbon. Whatever it was, he'd drunk enough of it to leave her intoxicated. But she didn't care, and at that moment, as his hands fumbled with the buttons of her sleep shirt, his hot lips on her neck, Eden finally understood one of life's sad truths—how addicts were born. No one sets out to be an addict.

". I asked him confused. "Right now, to me, my Addiction is loving you so immensely that I can’t seem to hide it, I wake up everyday to make sure that you lie next to me. With you, nothing is enough, I would always want more". I giggled lightly. "Liam, thats so sweet, thank you". "You are more addictive than any drug, I want to see you every time, feel you, touch you. You are my Addiction, Brianna and I think I'm Addicted To You".

She made me lose focus on the world and see only her. In only the short time we'd been together, she'd gotten under my skin like no one else, even Jo. I'd never fallen so fast or so hard. I didn't do drugs, never had. Nevertheless, I imagined that Charli was like cocaine. One casual hit at a party—that was all I was after in Del Mar. One hit, one week. Since returning to New York, I'd tried to deny my addiction. Each day we were apart was another day clean, another day sober. I was able to detox because she was out of my life.

My voice is wrong, too sharp, too unhinged, and I don’t fucking care. Jace steps in front of me, blocking Rich from my view, his hands gripping my arms again. This time, he holds me firmly. “Firefly,” he murmurs, and it’s not mocking. It’s not condescending. It’s grounding. “Just breathe.” “I need them,” I whisper, my body trembling. “Jace, please, I can’t—” His jaw clenches, his hands flexing against my arms. “Serena, listen to me. This isn’t just withdrawal from your bipolar meds. You’re addicted to whatever the fuck Dale’s been giving you, and you don’t even know what it is.”