Pretend We're Over (Pretend 2)

She really is a wanderer. Full of life and adventure. She’s free. I can’t handle that kind of disorganization in my life. I need order.

“My last real relationship was in college. Other than that, I just fuck women once and then move on to the next,” I open myself to her.

“In the past, I’ve only done real relationships, no one night stands, until you. But I think you’ve changed me on that. I want more one nights and fewer relationships. All of my relationships have ended in heartbreak.” I can feel her wounds as she speaks. I may not get all the details, but I can

still feel the pain.

“I’m a control freak. I need order and the same routine every day.”

“I’m messy. I like the freedom of not being tied down to any one person or job.”

“I can’t fuck you.”

Her hands drop out of mine, and she backs away. I don’t know if I let go, or she pulled them out at my admission. She grabs for her wine glass, like that might dull the sting of my words.

“Ask me,” I say, stepping back into her space even though she shifts, begging for me to release her from this conversation. “Ask me why.”

She clears her throat, but it comes out raspy anyway. “Why can’t you fuck me?”

“I’m an addict.”

Her eyes widen with surprise but no judgment.

“It used to be drugs and alcohol.” I step closer again, and this time she doesn’t retreat.

“I’ve been sober for over ten years. But I’m worried I might fall back into addiction again.”

She opens her mouth to speak.

“I think I’m addicted to you.” With my words, I pull her into a kiss—a desperate, heart wrenching, addicting kiss. One that I know there is no stopping. One where I will kiss and kiss and kiss until I’ve taken everything I need from Millie, but I won’t stop until I’ve taken more than she’s willing to give. That’s the life of an addict.

I used to think it was alcohol’s fault. In reality, I’m just addicted to pleasure, to joy, to life. That’s why my life is regimented. But once Millie entered my life, I realized all the things I was missing.

Right now, I can’t think about my addiction. All I can think about is feeding it.

Millie gasps when I let her breathe again. She’s the only one with the power to stop me.

“I should stop you then,” she pants heavily.

I nod. She should. I will only destroy her.

She thinks for a second then grabs onto my neck with one arm as she kisses me so hard our teeth clash and our tongues battle.

She moves to set the wine glass down on the table, but that’s not where I want the wine glass. It’s where I want her.

I sweep our dishes onto the floor. The clatter barely registers in my brain. I’m no longer in control; that’s what happens when I become addicted. And I’m about to surrender all of my control to Millie.

I grab her hips and lift her up onto the table as I spread her legs and step between them. She finally sets the glass down behind her, less destructive and more in control than I am, and then she grabs my shirt, lifting it over my head. I work the buttons on her jeans and begin to pull them off.

“You know dresses give me better access,” I say.

“I hate dresses, but if you promise me more orgasms if I wear them, then maybe I’ll start.”

I grin and then yank her pants and panties off before kneeling between her legs. Her eyes grow big as they watch me study her so intimately and closely.

I love every inch of her body. Every curve. Every freckle. Every imperfection. She doesn’t try to hide who she is; she just is.

I grab her thighs, and then I plunge my tongue between her folds. She tastes so sweet, already drenched for me. But I want to give her as many orgasms as I can tonight. I remember how she screamed my name last time, and that sound is an addicting melody to me.