Addicted To You Krista Ritchie Novels & Stories

He stroked my hair and whispered, “Only my cum can heal your womb’s failure. Without it, you’re nothing.” “I know,” I whispered, nuzzling closer. “I’m addicted. I’m yours.” By the end of the week, I was a guilt-obsessed wreck. I no longer resisted. I begged desperately for his cum, orgasmed only with his command, and lived for the daily ritual.

“Ride me like you mean it. Tell me you don’t want your old life back.” “I don’t want it back,” I moaned, grinding down on him. “This is all I need. Your cock destroying me every day.” My pussy clenched around him as I got closer. The addiction felt real now. The echoes had taken over completely. I couldn’t imagine leaving these chains or his touch. “Please let me cum. I’m so close.” He held my hips and controlled the pace, keeping me on the edge.

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?

They danced on the 'Addicted song' by Enrique Iglesias. And fortunately, it was Mani's one of favourite songs. Or who knows he knew it. Have I told you how good It feels to be me When I'm in you I can only stay clean When you are around Don't let me fall, oh no If I close my eyes forever Would it ease the pain Could I breathe again Baby, I'm addicted, I'm out of control (out of control) But you're the drug that keeps me from dying (dying)

He had never felt so desperate all his life yearning for more of a woman's taste, seriously Mariana was a special flavor. Now he was so sure that Mariana Romano is bad for him, so bad for him. She was a sweet silent addiction

Addicted to the way they were making me feel. Safe. Warm. Cherished. Protected. Owned. I took a deep breath that shuddered through my body. The combination of his breath mingling with mine and the tingle of his palm against my neck was heady and intoxicating. The dizzy from his words and the response they’d elicited inside me, I wanted to give in. I wanted to tell him yes. I wanted to tell him we could do that. That, despite our addictions, two opposite poles, we could make it work.

I took a deep drag of the nicotine stick in my fingers, then confirmed the position of the camera that was filming them. I'm eager to join in, to break up the atmosphere I'm used to seeing. Rena is different. She's my most favorite toy. Touching her is like an addiction that I can't stop. But this time is different. Maybe it's the effect of the drug? Seeing Rena like this, my brain is full of desire to enjoy her, but down here it suddenly dysfunctions. Damn psychiatrist! She made me impotent? Shit! I gotta get out! Rena in the center of the abandoned bed, lying without a single thread. She was naked in an arousing state.

And I— I blacked out for a second. I swear I did. “I can’t believe I made you cum like that,” I whispered, giggling through my ruined moans, wrapping my arms around his neck and nuzzling him like the messed-up little slut I was. “And with her watching? Daddy, that was so fucking dirty. I think I’m addicted. I think I wanna do it again. Everywhere. On every wall. Every surface. Even outside. I want the whole fucking world to see what it looks like when you fuck me full.”

CHAPTER ONE Alex's Pov "Tell me what you're thinking right now." I stared at the message glowing on my phone screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. It was past midnight, and I should have been asleep, but these conversations had become my addiction. Three months of talking to someone who didn't know my last name, didn't know where I worked, didn't know anything except the parts of myself I chose to reveal. "I'm thinking about how strange it is that you know me better than people I see every day," I typed back.

I grew addicted to that feeling of teetering on the edge of a cliff. Desire is like a flood—once a crack appears, nothing can stop it. Little by little, I stopped being satisfied with small exposures. To chase that irresistible rush of danger and thrill, I started trying it in riskier places. In class, I'd quietly slip my pants off while the teacher lectured, then let my hand wander. Walking alone at night, I'd bare my bottom, lift my top, and stroll down the street. In my mind, I'd fantasize about some lecherous man charging at me, shoving me to the ground, and roughly forcing my legs apart.