Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

I narrow my eyes, walking toward her. “Yes, it fucking matters when it takes away time I was supposed to have with you.”

Her eyes look away from me, toward her closet full of clothes that I’m sure she’s thinking about needing to get packed.

I grab her chin and turn her face to mine so that I can see her. “Why. Are. You. Leaving?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me as she pulls herself out of my grasp. She walks to the closet and pulls out a suitcase. She opens it, laying it on the bed before she returns to the closet and begins pulling out heaps of clothes and then placing them into the suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing.” She continues to throw clothes into the suitcase, not even bothering to fold them.

I move in front of the suitcase as she holds another large pile of clothes in her hands.

“Stop.”

“I have to pack,” she says, trying to move around me to put the clothes into the suitcase.

I block her. “Stop. The staff can pack for you. You need to talk to me.”

She shakes her head. “There is nothing to say.”

I frown. This is not how we are going to end. She doesn’t get to stop this by just ignoring me and then leaving. That’s not how our story ends. Our story ends with great sex and with a twinkle at the thought that, someday, we could run into each other and have great sex again. But that we didn’t let our personal lives affect us. That we meant something to each other because what we had was perfect and untouched by the real world.

I pick her up and carry her to the other side of the bed that isn’t currently holding a suitcase. I throw her down and pin her to the bed with my body as I lean down and kiss her.

She doesn’t kiss me back. She doesn’t fight me off either. She does nothing. It’s like she isn’t even really here. She just stares off into space.

I search her eyes for some clue as to what is going on. I find nothing.

“Who is Gabe?” I ask because I’m desperate. And, even if Gabe is a boyfriend, I need to hear it. I need to know that he is the reason she’s rushing home. I need to be angry with someone and not direct it all at her. I don’t want to hate her. I need to know why she is thinking about another man instead of me.

She swallows, and finally, I see a little of the fire in her eyes that I’m used to seeing.

“A man who needs me.”

I smirk and rub my dick against her thigh. “Right now, no man can need you more than I do.”

I expect a smile. A laugh, even. I get neither, just a sad woman with sad eyes.

“If he makes you this sad, why go back to him?”

She swallows. “Because, despite what you know about me, I’m not this person. I don’t fuck random men. I don’t push people away and forget all of my troubles. That’s not who I am. I care deeply about everyone around me. I take care of them even if they don’t deserve it. I take care of them even if it hurts me.”

I hate him. Whatever he’s done to her to make her like this makes me want to hunt him down to the ends of the earth. I want to make him pay for hurting her. I want her to stop feeling like she has to take care of him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, her voice soft from beneath me.

“I can’t.”

She shakes her head. “We don’t do this. We don’t share personal things with each other. We don’t have feelings for each othe

r. We have sex. And it was great while it lasted. You were the distraction I desperately needed this week. You let me be selfish. You let me forget. But, now, our time is up. It’s time to return to the real world where we face real problems.”

“I need one more fuck.”