Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

“He said that this isn’t good-bye. That you aren’t finished. He gets one more day. One more time. That was what the agreement was. Seven days. You’ve fulfilled only six of those days. He said he’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”

He’s going to meet me at the airport. I know it. The grin and life in my cheeks returns.

“Thank you, Bayron. For everything.” I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek.

“Be careful, Miss Skye,” he says.

“I will,” I say, knowing that he means be careful about Brody even though he isn’t the one I should be worried about. I put up a barrier between us the second I met him. Brody isn’t the problem. Gabe is.

The fact that I’m ending my last day early to run back to Gabe only verifies that he’s the problem I don’t know how to move on from. He’s the one who broke my heart. I never gave Brody the same chance. It’s impossible for him to break my heart when I never gave it to him in the first place.

I arrive at the airport with excitement and anxiety. My legs haven’t been able to stop shaking since I got into the car. I’ve tried to enjoy the last few minutes of my time in paradise by looking at the beautiful scenery as I am driven to the airport, but nothing holds my attention.

I glance at the clock on the driver’s dashboard as he pulls up in front of the airport. I have thirty minutes until my flight. More than enough time to fuck Brody one last time in a restroom before going through security and still making my flight.

I step out of the car and talk to the ticket agent to get my bags checked before I start looking for him.

He’s here somewhere; I know it. I pull my phone out of my purse, looking at it before I realize that I don’t even have his phone number. I don’t even know his last name. I know nothing about him that would allow me to find him.

I could talk to Bayron. He’d give me whatever information he had on Brody if I wanted him to, but I don’t. I don’t want to know personal details. I just want his body one last time.

I scan the airport lobby, but I don’t immediately see him. I know that I can’t walk through security. He’ll have no chance at finding me there. His flight back home isn’t until much later in the day. So, I walk over and take a seat on a bench, and I wait, letting in thoughts of Brody and igniting my deepest desires to have him one last time.

My eyes widen when I see him pull the rope out from behind his back. In the last few days with him, I’ve learned that I love being tied up. I love giving him control over my body. He knows his way around my body better than I do. But even though I’ve started to trust him these last couple of days, my heart still beats faster and the adrenaline shoots through me whenever he does something even a little bit dangerous.

“Hand,” he says. One word, but he commands my soul with it.

I hold out my left hand and he begins tying the rope around my wrist. He looks to my other hand and I hold it out for him as well. He ties my hands together making sure that the rope is tight enough that I can’t escape, but not so tight that it will leave a mark.

And then he pulls my arms above my head as he ties my wrists to the headboard. My arms instinctually pull at the rope testing to see if I can escape or not. I can’t.

I don’t understand why I give him so much control. I don’t understand why I trust him, especially given my past with men, but I do.

He pulls out another rope and I pant.

He’s only ever tied my hands up, so it thrills and terrifies me to find out what it will feel like to completely give up everything to him.

He grabs my ankle and takes his time tying a rope around each leg. Then stretches my legs wide as he attaches them to each of the posts on the foot of the bed.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Good.”

He tosses his shirt over my face, covering my eyes. I wait for him to tie it around my head, but he never does. I can’t see him, but it wouldn’t take much for me to shake the shirt off my face if I wanted to.

I don’t though.

His hands go to my bikini top and he pushes it up off my breasts. Then his fingers hook into the sides of my bikini bottoms, and he slowly pulls them down until I’m naked, completely at his disposal.

I wait for him to kiss me. Stroke me. Spank me. Anything.

He doesn’t.

He waits. He’s far too patient.

Every second that passes I grow more restless trying to anticipate what he’s going to do. He’s left me alone before; is that what he’s doing again? Leaving me to suffer while he goes and finds new toys?