Addicted z.m

Chapter 21

Days went by.

Then weeks.

I sometimes found myself downstairs with that portrait during breaks. Her plump, parted lips, her messy hair, her rosy cheeks. That night and following morning are engraved in perfect detail in the back of my mind.

Not an inch of space could get between us. Ironically, a part of her had shown that had never been revealed before: her innocence. For once in our relationship I knew she needed me. I was always there, and I always felt the yearn to carry her. But that night, she needed me to hold her tight, and guide her. . .

Now, that trust she had in me is gone. That night she let go and let me hold the foreign weight. Now she can't even trust that my smile is sincere.

*

Her hand ran from my shoulder to my elbow slowly and enticingly as she stood between my legs. Her other hand combed through my hair.

"Why the long face, love?" she whispered, taking my chin in here hand. I couldn't find my voice to answer. "You're really tense." Her fingers dug deeper into my shoulders.

Her touch burned, and yet, I ached for more.

Next thing I knew she was climbing on the bed behind where I sat. She pulled up on the hem of my shirt and pealed it off. Her small hands traced every dent in my back, stinging every inch of skin she touched.

Her hands then grasped my shouders - thumbs digging into my back - as her lips fell to my ear. "Relax, babe," she whispered. Her repeated motions soothed me. My head fell back on her shoulder.

My breaths were staggered. These simple touches drove me insane.

Her hands travelled to my chest. "I don't remember you ever being so. . . easily untangled. . ." Her lips teased my earlobe before pressing against my neck.

"Spencer. . ?" I whispered.

"That's my name," she flirted. "Please. . . wear it out."

I felt her hands roam lower down my torso. I bit my lip, already feeling riled up. She's never had such an effect on me. The tips of her fingers reached my waist band.

"Spencer-" my voice was shakey. "Baby, please."

"Well aren't you charming when you beg," she smirked. She obliged, gracefully, slipping her fingers beneath my waistband.

Her body was the only thing keeping me externally stable. Inside, I was coming undone.

This was different, though. This was wrong. My hand stopped hers.

"Spencer," I puffed out. I looked at her and she stared at me questioningly.

"Did I do something wrong?" she pouted seductively.

"No," I shook my head, running a thumb underneath her lip. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

"Then why'd you do it?" she begged. "Why?! Why would you do this?!"

My head shot up off of my desk. Spencer stood in front of my desk, arms crossed, scowl deeply set on her face.

"What?" I lifted a brow.

"Did you truly think I would agree to this?" she cried.

I traded her gaze for my desk, searching my memory for what she could be accusing me of.

I looked back up at her with no clue. "What did I do?"

"I just got an invitation to make a statement that could possibly help set Michael and his minons free," she clarified.