Addicted To You Mga Nobela at Kwento

He didn't know what she had been doing to him these days but he could see that he was loosing control. That was the last thing he wanted. He was supposed to be in control while she begged and pleaded with him. He had been the one to propose this offer in the first place, so everything about it should be his call. He was still consumed in his thoughts when he felt cold air rush against his skin. He looked down to see that his shirt was no longer on him and his pants were now at his ankle and Leila was working on drawing down his boxers. He heaved a huge sigh. He was getting addicted to her. He needed to fight this addiction before it took over his power over her and make him lost to her. Perh

I can’t wait to run to my room and talk to my confidant and best friend,Diary. Dear Diary, Today I felt alive.I never quite understood somethings people do that totally put their lives at risk,never desired the fast life.Now I completely understand.Flying though that field,my mind void of every other thing was wondrous.I might actually be getting an adrenaline addiction with just two exposures.Thing is though,I don’t think I would be able to run as fast with nothing to get out of mind.I think I would be ordinary if I was carefree.The I need all my anxiety,insecurities and doubts to push me across the finish line.

With him this close, I can barely think, and I hate how badly I already need him, like he's some kind of drug my body has gotten addicted to. The worst part is knowing that wanting him like this is exactly what they called me, slut, whore, homewrecker. Right now, I don't fucking care. We're parked on the side of a dark road in the middle of a raging storm, with rain hammering against the windows, and yet somehow, I still hear myself say the words. “Fuck me.” Cassian goes completely still. His jaw flexes, and his hands tighten around my face as though he's fighting a battle with himself.

It fueled the fire within me to break him, to dismantle his resistance piece by agonizing piece, and then to remold him into the perfect image of my desire: a submissive possession, utterly devoted and compliant. I swear, I felt like I'd stumbled upon some potent, addictive drug. Tristan was that drug, an intoxicating addiction that sunk its claws into me the moment I first tasted him. I already bedded countless men and women, each encounter a fleeting amusement, a temporary distraction. None of them had even come close to igniting the fire that Tristan had unleashed within me.

I grit down, shove it all into the void. The night drags like a sentence. First dose fades after two hours, wolf surges fiercer. I grab the second—ignore the warnings, jab, push. Pain doubles, body thrashing between sofa and floor, sweat ruining another shirt, nausea crashing. But I hold—teeth grinding, riding it out. Midnight, moon high, wolf peaking. I'm on the floor now, back to the table, gold flecks edging my sight. My hand scrabbles up, third syringe. Past the safe dose. Screw it. Jab, push, tidal wave hits. Convulsing, nails scraping marble, howling in my head—the wolf or me, I can't tell.

"That’s it. Use me. Take what you’ve wanted for years." "I have wanted this," I panted, grinding down deep. "Every family dinner, every pool day. I got wet just hearing your voice." "Fuck yes." He thrust up to meet me, one hand coming up to lightly grip my throat. "You’re addicted already, aren’t you?" "So addicted," I gasped, moving faster. "I don’t want to stop. Even if Emma finds out." He flipped us suddenly, pinning me down again and driving in deep. "Good. Because I’m not letting you go. This pussy is mine now."

My name was Lindsey Hawthorn, and I had struggled with this compulsion for as long as I could remember. Everyone always thought I was a good, quiet girl, but only I knew the truth—the intense, almost unbearable craving I had for men. Just the sight of a strong, muscular man was enough to make me weak. By the time I reached college, this need had completely spiraled out of control. Sometimes, even the slightest friction while walking would trigger an overwhelming release. People would stare, probably thinking I had wet myself.

They paid double when we kissed and swapped their cum between our mouths. Back home, the addiction consumed us completely. We loved it. The soreness between our legs after a long night, the sticky feeling of dried cum on our skin, the way our pussies throbbed with memories of being stretched and used. “We’re addicted, baby,” Mom moaned one night as she ground her clit against mine after a particularly brutal session with four clients. “And I fucking love it. Your dad’s death left me empty. You filled me with this… this fire.”

Then he gave me everything. “If your body is a drug, your pussy is my dosage. And I am a chronic addict. I can’t quit you, Savannah. I don’t even fucking want to. You’re my fix, my high, my overdose. Every time I taste you, I want more. Every time I fuck you, it’s never enough. I could split you open a thousand times and still crave you the next second. You’ve turned me into a fucking addict, and the only cure is between your legs.” My breath fled. My thighs pressed together.

Windows slightly fogged, his hands gripping her ass as she bounced desperately on his cock. “You’re getting addicted, aren’t you?” he growled, biting her neck hard enough to leave another mark. “Can’t even go a day without this dick now. Say it.” “I’m addicted,” Mia whimpered, grinding down harder. “I need it… I need you.” “That’s my good little whore.” He thrust up brutally, making her see stars. “This pussy is mine. This body is mine. Try to fight it and I’ll ruin your entire fucking life.”