Addicted

I pulled her against me and wrapped my arms around her.

Was it a hug? Yeah, I guess so. A hug that lasted half an hour.

We laid there, on the floor of my kitchen, in a puddle of tears, sweat and cum.

Didn't say much after all the red-flag drama. What was said... not even sure how to describe it. Wasn't even small-talk. She got cold, we showered. She didn't bring spare clothes, this evening had been a little crazy, and she didn't have any clothes at my place.

She wore one of my sweatshirts like a short dress, and she looked damned sexy in it.

She mumbled something about maybe keeping clothes over here. I told her she was welcome to have a drawer and some closet space. It's nice when you can make a girl "squee!" out loud.

She glanced around my bedroom. "So, uh, I just thought of something."

"Hm?"

"If I have stuff here, is that going to... uh... cramp your style?"

"Style? I'm not sure I have a style. What's my style?"

"Brutalist," she answered.

"Huh. Seems like that would involve leather, somehow."

She giggled and shook her head before turning serious again. "It means you're brutal the way you drag answers out of me."

"Cramping my style...?" I tried to connect the dots, aaaaand: "Wait, like... other girls?"

"Jesus, you're dense sometimes!"

"Hm. Yeah. Uh..." I dropped onto the bed and tried to wrap my head around this. Technically, she had a point. We were serious, yes; boyfriend/girlfriend, yes. Now that I thought about it, not once had I ever actually mentioned being "exclusive." How does that play against the whole hot, cheating girlfriend thing that turned tonight into a rollercoaster?

I finally shrugged. "Would you believe I don't really have time for it?"

"Yes, because I've seen your schedule; and no, because I've experienced your libido."

I pulled her down to the bed with me. "Just occurs to me that I've been so wrapped up in you, we rarely discuss me."

She drummed her fingers on a pillow. "Not for lack of trying."

"I thought you got off on having all the attention?"

"Well, yes, obviously -- especially from you. I also feel like I'm dating a hit man."

"A tit man, you said?" And I attacked, getting the ticklish spots until she was laughing so hard she snorted.

"STOP! I'm gonna pee!"

I eased up, just a little, and finally just draped my arm over her. "You want to discuss me? Sure. Since you and I have been seeing each other, I've flirted with a few girls, but I haven't gone out with any. Haven't 'seen' any. Haven't brought any back here."

Lizzy swallowed, turned over, and looked me dead in the eyes. "I would almost feel better if you did."

"Almost," I chuckled. "Feeling guilty?"

"Right now, yes."

I was intrigued. "Are there times you don't feel guilty?"

"I don't feel a lick of guilt when I have a cock in my mouth. But afterward...?" She bit her lip, shaking her head. "I'm willing to at least share you, if it means I don't lose you."

Holy fucking shit. I'm sure I wore that expression, too, but she was looking away. "That's, uh... Yeah. Cool."

Wow, I'm smooth.

Not sure she noticed just how epically non-smooth I was, but I didn't have time dwell on it as her words percolated through my brain. Not gonna lie, parts of me woke up and wrote that "share" part down. Right now, though, it was all about her.

The Smooth was kicking back in. I kissed her gently, first on the lips, next on the forehead.

"You are a trip, Lizzy." I ran a finger over her jawline, down her neck, and over the curve of her sweatshirt-covered chest. "You're a trip, and I'm loving it. I don't want this trip to end."

She snuggled into my chest, as close as she could get.

Her voice was the softest whisper: "I love you."

And she fell asleep in my arms.

#

Alarm. Shit.

Felt her warmth against me. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want this to go away.

I reached back, grabbed my phone, and shut off the alarm.

As I did... she climbed on top of me. A little wiggle into place, and she started grinding.

I grabbed the hem of the sweatshirt, as if to lift it off her, and she shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself to keep it on.

"Okay."

The grinding, the heat of her against me... that would wake the dead. Certainly woke me up.

"Shhh..." she put a finger over my lips. It didn't take long for her to reach back and slip me inside her very-wet pussy.

She did all the work, circling and rocking... then finally slamming her hips against mine until I came inside her. And she came, too, right after. She has different orgasms -- and I knew the timing on this one: it was her cumslut orgasm.

My dick did not want to go soft after that... but we both had to roll.

Did she put on her clothes from last night? Nope. With me dripping out of her, she wore my sweatshirt home... and only my sweatshirt.

#

I was autopilot the rest of the morning. My head was spinning, my brain slow-motion exploding from everything said and done last night. And this morning, now that I thought about it.

At the gym, a barrage of early clients took my mind off her.

Sort of.

I don't think she was ever completely gone.

Between clients, she bubbled back to the top. This morning had been the most wonderful way ever to wake up. It was gentle, hot, loving even. Was that it? Were we making love? She made love to me, I laid back and enjoyed it. Absorbed it.

Was there love?

Yeah... yeah, I suppose there was. Warm and fuzzy mixed in all that hot and slippery.

My orgasm was all about her. Her movement. Her voice. Her feel. Maybe even a little of her cute-hot face. Her orgasm was... all about feeling mine inside her.

Wish I knew more psychology. That felt so simple in one way, and so hopelessly complex in another. For both of us. For completely different reasons.

Helluva contrast from last night, though.

Was last night "reclaim" sex? Technically, yes...? Didn't feel like it to me: it felt like "accepting you as you are" sex. I think she felt reclaimed, though. I think reclaim sex was what she needed.

The sweatshirt fit right into that. She kept the sweatshirt. I don't want to say she wore it "home," but she wore it back to her place.

There.

That moment right there. That's what kept me on my toes. This was the girl who got off on cheating, remember? And yet, the same girl who commandeered my sweatshirt. My cute-monster was a complex beast.

I glanced up to see my next client checking in at the front desk. I had just enough time to shoot her a text:

"Hey, cutie. Lunch... or is your dance card already full?"

A moment later: "LUNCH! Yes! Something light. Jamba?"

I hid behind a machine to sneak in another text. "Usual one?"

"OUR Jamba! Yes! Meet you there. Noon?"

"Noon. CU there."

#

"Hi!"

Small talk.

Hug. Kiss, if just a peck.

Trudge through the line. Place an order. More small talk.

Little flirts.

Wait for the order. Wait... hug, then kiss?

Warm. Warmth. More the feeling than the temperature.

We are utterly normal people. In an utterly normal relationship.

Just a peck...?

It felt so... natural. Adult. Appropriate. Comfortable.

For an instant, terror: where's the burning, blue-hot flames? Oh, it's there. It's a millimeter under the surface, slowly compressing with everything we're not saying right now. You're normal, right?

Hug first. Don't stoke the fire so much that it burns out.

"Hey, guys! Welcome back!" The Jamba clerk was all smiles. "What'll it be today? The usual or something different?"

Maintain the illusion of "normal," just a little bit longer. She's literally dressed in "office casual." Hug first, then kiss. Build the baseline of looking like the responsible adults that you are... definitely not.

Five minutes later: small talk with each other and the Jamba crew. Jostled in the crowd, but there was always a little ego stroke to that. I'll be honest, I like the attention as much as anybody and I tend to get more than most. When I had a companion...? It was fun seeing the looks she got, too.

Yeah, not gonna lie: lately, it was more fun seeing the looks she got.

"Hey, you two! Lizzie! James! Here ya go!"

Drinks in hand, we escaped the noon crush of Jamba Juice.

Hand-in-(other)-hand, we strolled around the corner to the courtyard. It wasn't really until that moment that I felt truly "in" the moment. Everything had been on autopilot, like the rest of the morning. Emotion had been there, but it was all... muted?

Between an Olive Garden and an Outback, with half a dozen stores on the other side of the courtyard, we found a pair of chairs with just enough space to have a conversation.

I looked around.

She looked around, and it felt like it was for the same reasons: if anybody was listening in, we weren't responsible for their shock.

Reset, I broke the silence: "Wish I could've watched every step in your 'Walk of Shame' this morning."

She smiled, nodding. "Confession time: coming home from my boyfriend's place? I felt zero shame this morning!"

"I love hearing that... though they don't know that."

"True," she grinned. "And let's face it: you were there Saturday night and Sunday, Travis was there Tuesday night and last night. Who, exactly, is my boyfriend, again?"

"Oh my god, you little slut."

"That's what the neighbors think!"

"They're right."

"I know!" she giggled.

"Did he text this morning?"

"Of course. He asked if we broke up yet."

Wow. That was a little weird. Disconcerting... yet... Adrenaline? Hard to put my finger on it. Bright side: very NOT broken up. "Is he trying to get you to break up with me... or does he expect me to 'discover' something and break up with you?"

She squinted at me. "You know, I'm not super sure about that. Given that he's a little bit toxic...? I don't think he'd mind if I dumped you, but he probably wants you to dump me."

"So he can move in on you? Sounds like a 'Nice Guy' tactic."

"It worked for you."

"You take that back!" I air-flicked at her little button nose. "I wasn't trying to break you up. I didn't even know you."

"Touché..." she admit. "That's a big difference."

Sudden thought: "You like that toxic element, don't you?"

She bit her lip. "I guess, yes? Sometimes?"

"Weirdo. Why?"

"I've been thinking about that. Like, what makes him different from you? Besides shoulders and... a personality?"

"Thanks for that."

She took a sip, still mulling it over. "See, you're like a slice of pizza. Pizza is exciting! It makes your mouth water. You need variety? Just put on different toppings. Him? Next to a slice of you, he's only a condiment... but he's hot sauce."

"You love hot sauce."

"I DO! I'm addicted to hot sauce! I want it all over my tongue, ALL the TIME, but..."

"It doesn't actually satisfy you?"

She shook her head and pointed at me. "Yeah. That."

So, I'm pizza... "What about that toxic part?"

"It's the burn. Totally the burn. You want the taste of it, the intensity, then you want the 'hurt' to go away. And have you ever gotten hot sauce in your eye?"

"Tear gas. That count?"

"Jesus!" Her eyes went wide a second, then she leaned back in her chair. "Hot sauce is pain you can control."

"Huh. Yeah..."

I'd like to say I don't understand, but here I was, letting myself fall deeper and deeper with a woman who is literally addicted to cheating. I'm not a masochist by any means, but an adrenaline junky, sure. Same disease, different variant?

I suddenly needed more details: "Where were you... when you called me last night?"

"Just before I came over?"

"Just before he came in your mouth."

She covered her eyes, suddenly self-conscious. "...My apartment."

"That part I knew. Where, specifically?"

A devious smile crossed her lips. "Trying to picture it?"

"Yes."

"Bedroom," she answered. "When he came, I was kneeling... on the floor... by the foot of the bed."

I remembered hearing the fumble of the phone as it happened -- and having no idea what was going on. Didn't even occur to me, though it should've. In retrospect... it would've been hot if she'd taken a picture with her mouth full.

Where did that thought come from? This was my girlfriend we were talking about here.

Oh, yeah: it came from browsing slutty-girlfriend porn last weekend... with my slutty girlfriend. Decision time: Righteous Indignation or was it Righteously Hot?

Fuck it. Hot. Righteously Hot. Took a deep breath and went on: "...And this morning, when he texted: what did he ask?"

Lizzy handed me her phone. She'd entered his name into her contacts, so it had "Travis" across the top of the text window. There was only two entries from the morning:

Travis: "How did it go?"

Her: "Call me in 5."

"So you actually talked to him? At work? What did you tell him?"

"Honestly?"

Took the straw out of my Jamba Juice and tapped it, like knocking ash off a cigarette, then took a deep, imaginary drag. "No, lie to me."

She smirked and looked down, her nipples hardening. "I lied to him. Does that count?"

"Sure."

She bit her lip, but she wasn't saying anything.

"You're not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

"I told him you don't suspect a thing, but we still had to be careful."

"Kinky. When are you going to see him?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask..."

"I'm going to drop by his place right after work."

"Wow." Now that it was in my head, I was going to obsess over it. Exciting, but... fuck. Distracting. "Think you'll stay there tonight?"

"No way: I've got too much stuff to get done." She took a sip, lingering on the straw like it was a dick. "I'll drop by his place, worship his cock, then it's chores, chores, chores!"

"Jesus..."

#

Hammered.

Fucking hammered my clients, then hammered myself that afternoon. Sets to failure until I had a hard time raising my arms, THEN I hit the heavy bags. No face on the bags, but it was still cathartic.

Was I pummeling "Travis"? Maybe the first 30 seconds or so, but I discovered something weird: beating the shit out of him didn't do anything for me.

Beating on something, though... that was a release. Primal. Instinctual. It cleared my head of anything outside technique and power. It was controlled violence until every movement was about tactics.

The rage had dissipated, the fury was gone. There was only a sense of detached serenity. I had my Zen.

#

By 7:30 that night, I dropped on my couch like a crash test dummy.

Squeaking, movement, shifting: yeah, we'd broken it. Shit. Had fun breaking it, but still: if I wanted a new one, this would be expensive. But ya know what? I'm hanging original art on the walls, I might as well buy a new couch.

Looked up "couches" and I was really leaning into some sort of sectional.

That's when the phone rang. Lizzy's ring tone.

Slid my thumb across the screen. "Babe! What's up?"

There was an instant between my breath and hers when everything crashed around me. I'd hammered it so hard, I'd actually shoved THAT out of my mind. Now, suddenly, it all came rushing back. Surprising: even in a sea of adrenaline, I was standing on a sandy island of calm. Maybe because I was picturing her in my sweatshirt.

"Chores went a LOT faster than I expected. Watcha doin'?"

Had to resist asking about her Travis interlude. "I'm headed out."

"Anything interesting?"

"Couch shopping."

"Furniture?"

"Yeah. Want to join me?"

"YES!"

#

We met in the store parking lot. She was still dressed in what I'd seen at lunch: short business-casual skirt and a now-unbuttoned blazer. Big brown eyes, her button nose, and a mouth designed to lovingly suck a cock, she was monstrously cute.

I leaned in for a kiss -- and stopped short. It was a week ago, tonight, that she'd come over to confess blowing her boss at her quarterly review. What an odd fucking anniversary to think about with a girlfriend.

But it worked for her...

Whoops, check that: after the last three... four?... days of meeting "Green-Shirt Guy," her boss was old news. Still resisted the urge to ask about... anybody else.

I expected another all-grown-up, married-for-years short peck, but out in a semi-deserted parking lot? She laid it on me. What did I taste? Coffee... and sex.

Fucking hell. Dick... on my girlfriend's breath. "Travis, I presume?"

She bit her lip. "No Listerine. Sorry."

"At least..." Fuck. I glanced at the small can of cold-brew she had in hand. This chick. "Well, you rinsed with something. Thanks."

"I picked it up on the way over..." She displayed the can, then drained the last of it. "Didn't actually open it until I parked."

"Savoring his flavor?"

She gave a devious little grin. "Got out early, got my chores done early, so... Just left his place."

"Ahh... Fresh, even. You are a bad girl."

She tossed the can into recycling and we headed around the corner to the entrance. "Gonna give me a spankin?"

I pointed at the store. "I'm gonna watch you suck off the manager."

"Oh!" she giggled as she reached for the door. "I think Travis took a Viagra because-"

"Welcome to Interior Designs," the salesman interrupted. "May I help you?"

Lizzy eyes went wide. "HI! I'm here with my boyfriend... We're here to look at furniture!"

"Oh, that's wonderful! Right this way. One note, though: we're about to close."

"Gotcha," I responded.

"Take us to your couches!" Lizzy commanded.

"Of course!"

Manager? Clerk? Guy. Definitely "guy." And with that timing? I swear to God it felt like he and the whole rest of the world knew that Lizzy was standing here, with us... and another guy's spunk in her belly.

...Just over Lizzy's head, a floating psychic slut klaxon, blaring a proclamation...

Okay, that was just ridiculous. And yet, I could not get it out of my head the weirdness of being out in public with my girlfriend, while...

Yeah. While Travis' cum was in her belly.

So distracted, I walked around a fashionable end table and right into a row of fucking recliners.

Lizzy glanced back at me: "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, great!"

Secret, yet public. HIS cum is in HER belly, RIGHT fucking NOW.

What-why-how... Exhibitionist. Voyeur? Yeah. Slut. Obviously. Cuck? I wanted to say no, not a fucking issue -- at least not the definition of "cuck" that felt pejorative. Still, the risks and complications of exposure crossed my mind. Fuck. There was too much to process. I'd have to circle back later.

My cream-filled girlfriend guided me past an island of entertainment centers. "I'm kind of excited. We're furniture shopping!"

"You're always excited..."

Lizzy slipped her hand in mine. "Yeah, but this is like... nesting."

"Dangerously domestic," I agreed.

She bit her lip and leaned in for a whisper. "Were you kidding about, um..."

"Hm? What?"

She gave a subtle nod toward the manager.

That she even asked gave my dick a shove. But the way she asked? Honestly, that had been a throwaway line. Totally spontaneous, so I had no idea where to go with it. For sanity's sake, definitely no.

...Yet she seemed willing to let me pull her strings. That was hot. Plus, there was already Travis-jizz sloshing around in her belly, so the thought of adding more made it a definite-fucking-yes! For insanity's sake, I wanted Lizzy to go down on this guy.

"Maybe," I finally answered. "Maybe not."

There. Perfect. Give her something as ambiguous as I was feeling. See what she does with it. Rorschach's request form?

We found the sectionals and zeroed in on the one I saw online. Deeeeeluxe. Sat on it, crawled across it, laid on it, kissed Liz on it...

Fuck. Coffee and...

This chick. With her blazer unbuttoned, her camisole underneath seemed almost like lingerie. She gave little touches, little flirts...

To both of us.

Looked like Rorschach was interpreting his way right into her panties.