Chapter 65

Of the way he used to torture me until I forgot everything and lost myself in him.

I dream of him . . . and wake up wet and throbbing, my body empty and aching for his possession. Like an addict going through a withdrawal, I am desperate for a fix, for something to take the edge off my need.

I am not ready to date, but my body doesn't care about that—and finally, I decide to give in.

Dressing up, I grab my old fake ID and head to a local bar.

* * *

The men swarm around me like flies. It's easy, so fucking easy. A girl alone in a bar—that's all the encouragement they need. Like wolves scenting prey, they sense my desperation, my desire for something more than a cold, lonely bed tonight.

I let one of them buy me drinks. A shot of vodka, then one of tequila . . . By the time he asks me if I want to leave, everything around me is fuzzy. Nodding, I let him lead me to his car.

He's a good-looking man in his thirties, with sandy hair and blue-grey eyes. Not particularly tall, but reasonably well built. He's an attorney, he tells me as he drives us to a nearby motel.

I close my eyes as he continues talking. I don't care who he is or what he does. I just want him to fuck me, to fill that gaping void inside. To take away the chill that has seeped deep into my bones.

He rents a room at the front desk, and we go upstairs. When we get into the room, he takes off my coat and begins to kiss me. I can taste beer and a hint of tacos on his tongue. He presses me to him, his hands hot and eager as they begin to explore my body—and suddenly, I can't take it anymore.

"Stop." I shove him away as hard as I can. Taken by surprise, he stumbles back a couple of steps.

"What the fuck—" He gapes at me, mouth open in disbelief.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, grabbing my coat. "It's not you, I promise."

And before he can say a word, I run out of the room.

Catching a taxi, I go home, sick from the alcohol and utterly miserable. There is no fix for my addiction, no way to quench my thirst.

Even drunk, I can't bear another man's touch.

It starts off as another erotic dream.

Strong, hard hands slide up my naked body, callused palms scratching my skin as he squeezes my breasts, his thumbs rubbing against my peaked, sensitive nipples. I arch against him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the heavy weight of his powerful body pressing me into the mattress. His muscular legs force my thighs apart, and his erection prods at my sex, the broad head sliding between the soft folds and exerting light pressure on my clit.