Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 38.

        I give his erection another light squeeze and release him. He follows me to the car. His eyes are burning a hole in my back, and I can feel the heat in his stare. I can feel his promises in the way he slowly rounds the car and sits inside, in the way he takes my hand as he drives away.

        I can feel everything he wants and needs tonight.

        He wants to make me lose control, to take me into a blacked-out oblivion where nothing matters but us. He wants to work my body and make me lose myself the only way he knows how to.

        But every time he does, I crave a little more. Of him. Of his touch. To the point where not touching him for an hour is driving me insane.

        Not having his hand around mine or his lips at my neck is unsettling.

        I'm already losing control. He doesn't need to fuck me into next week to propel me into oblivion. The guy just needs to exist. Pure and fucking simple.

        And I can feel it. Everything slipping away. Control over my addiction. The control I've exercised for so long is now truly disintegrating right beneath my fingers.

        "What's your favorite fruit?"

        "What?" Harry glances at me.

        I ask again.

        "Peaches."

        "Vegetable?"

        "Uh, I've never thought about it, but I guess it's a carrot?"

        "Are you asking me or telling me?"

        "Telling you."

        I nod once. "Okay. Good."

        He doesn't say anything else as we drive, and neither do I. I didn't mean to ask those two questions. They just slipped out. With the thoughts of loss of control come the actions to prove it.

        When Harry kills the engine, I take my hand from his. I get out of the car before he does and walk into the elevator. Then I press the button for his floor and stare at his confused face as the doors shut.

        "Liv?"

        I lean back against the elevator wall and close my eyes. Back and forth, back and forth, constantly. Never-ending indecision. Never-ending fighting. Never-ending fucking battling the little bitch inside my head who tells me that it's all or nothing.

        I wish I could be Harry.

        I wish I could accept and live with my addiction. He doesn't fight at all. He embraces it wholeheartedly. He just gets the hell on with it in a way I can only dream of.

        His addiction ignites mine. It sets mine alight with barely a flicker of a flame and stokes it until it's a consuming roar, until every second is about fulfilling the tempting crave that flows through my veins.

        Every word, every touch, every kiss. Every single thing he does is bad. But I'm addicted to the bad. I want the bad. I need the bad. I fucking crave the bad.

        I fight. He doesn't.

        By not fighting, every time he touches me, he destroys me a little.

        But I'm far too weak to walk away.

        The elevator doors open and he's standing there in front of me, his shirt half untucked, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. He reaches forward and grabs my wrist. He tugs me from the elevator, the sound of his labored breathing filling the lobby.