Sex Addict

by Brooke Blaine

  “Mom…” Jennifer’s voice shook as she tried to project it across the small space.

  Her mother looked up, and as her bloodshot eyes found hers, she raised a hand toward her.

  “Jenny.”

  Jennifer took a timid step forward. “What’s going on? Daddy is upset too.”

  Her mother wiped a tear from her cheek before patting the bedspread beside her. “Come here, baby girl. It’s okay.”

  She moved around to the side of the bed and sat down beside her mother, her legs swinging off the floor as she fiddled with her hands in her lap.

  “We got some bad news today, and we need to talk to you and Troy about it before you…well, before other people do. That’s all.”

  Confused, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  Her mom took her hands in hers and pulled her close to her side before stroking a hand down her hair.

  “It’s about Rocky’s family, Jenny.”

  She tried to piece together what her mother could possibly mean, but came up with nothing.

  “We won’t be seeing him anymore.”

  “OW, SHIT,” REAGAN cursed as her hand accidentally brushed the hot iron. After turning on the cold water, she stuck her hand underneath, wincing slightly at the initial sting of pain. Glancing at her cell, she noticed it was getting close to the time she’d planned to meet Evan, so with one final pass under the water, she shut the faucet off and grabbed the Neosporin from the medicine cabinet to her left. Then she applied a thick smear and gave herself one last look in the mirror.

  Even though she hadn’t promised to obey Evan’s “cup commands,” she’d never had any intention of not following through. On any count.

  The fuck-me heels were high, the panties were nonexistent, and the strapless skintight black dress she wore was short enough to be indecently sexy, but long enough for her not to pass as a street hooker.

  The only thing she couldn’t manage to put on was the bra he’d returned, but only because it was impossible to wear underneath that particular dress. It was spritzed with her favorite perfume and tucked into her handbag in case he accused her of reneging on their bet.

  All right, Evan James. Bring it on.

  * * *

  THE TOWN CAR waiting outside her apartment had been a surprise. Though she’d refused to give him her address and had stipulated she’d meet him at the venue, he’d managed to find it anyway and had transportation waiting to escort her there—alone.

  She smiled as she gazed out at the river below, watching the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge dance across the top of the water as they drove across it, leaving the city behind them. The flutter in her stomach made her feel like she was eight again, giddy and excited about seeing Evan’s handsome face. For all his faults, and she was well aware of them, he really was charming when he wanted to be.

  The unruly brown hair he’d never been able to tame back then was a bit more manageable now, and his face had taken on a rugged, manly look, erasing his boyish features, but his eyes—his eyes were the constant. They were the color of aged whiskey, but back then she had always compared them to the honey that Miss Rodgers down the street had bottled up and sent by the case to their house every year. But no, Evan was certainly not sweet like honey; he was more the hot sting left behind by the bee.

  As the car pulled up in front of a cobbled path, Reagan peered out to see twinkling lights scattered throughout the branches hanging in an arch over the walkway. The plants and flowers lining the pavers were also lit up by garden floodlights, adding to the romantic ambience of the place as she pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the curb.

  Looking at her surroundings, Reagan had to consciously keep her mouth from falling open.

  The place was stunning. Breathtaking, actually, and there was no way in hell that this could be mistaken as anything other than a play to impress.

  And score one for Evan. I’m impressed.

  Clutching her handbag by her side, she all of a sudden felt like a nervous wreck. No doubt thanks to the Town Car, the restaurant and—

  “Reagan?”

  —the man.

  Turning her head, she spied him standing off to the side of the entrance, dressed immaculately in a black suit, black tie, and tailored white shirt. In the left pocket of his jacket was a neatly folded handkerchief. He’d never looked sexier.

  Swallowing her nerves, she willed herself to pull it together and also reminded herself not to think about how hot he looked, because hello—no panties.

  She made her way over to where he was standing and didn’t miss for one second the way his eyes ate her up with every step she took. Apparently she had pleased him, because when she stopped in front of him and raised her eyes, he swiped his tongue along his lower lip and said, “So…I see you do know how to follow orders. Although I have to say, you far exceeded my expectations.”

  With a seductive wink, she leaned in and placed a hand on the lapel of his jacket and said, “Thank you. And just so we’re clear, I followed every single order, right down to the bare essentials.”

  Evan’s eyes roamed down her body, as if he would be able to see through her dress, and then quickly found hers again. “You mean…”

  “Oh yes, I mean bare.”

  “Fuck me,” he said under his breath.

  As his gaze made its way back up to hers, the look in his eyes almost stole the air from her lungs. She couldn’t move for a long moment and then, finally, she looked away self-consciously and decided to break the tension in the air.

  “But you haven’t even bought me dinner yet,” she teased.

  His expression stayed serious as he reached for her waist and held her still, close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Though she couldn’t find the words to respond, a smile swept across her face, and his hand on her waist moved down to grab her hand.

  “Shall we?” he asked, and she linked her fingers through his and squeezed in acknowledgment.

  He led her inside the intimate space, and the first thing she noticed was the wall-to-floor glass on the left side of the room, showcasing the spectacular Manhattan skyline.

  Their table was situated directly in front of the glass, adorned with a fresh bouquet of roses, candles, and intricately carved wine goblets, while the soft sounds of the grand piano played from the corner of the room. Taking the seat Evan pulled out for her, she almost pinched herself that she was here, now, with him.

  Not quite sure where to begin, she glanced down at the white tablecloth, looking for the napkin and cutlery—but the table was empty save for the napkin.

  Glancing across at where Evan sat, she saw a crafty smile pull across his lips.

  “Looking for something?” he asked as she turned to look at the people seated next to them. It wasn’t until right at that moment she noticed they were eating with…their fingers.

  Spinning back to face him, she narrowed her eyes and asked, “Where’s the silverware?”

  Evan chuckled, and she had a feeling her consternation was amusing him greatly.

  “Oh, did I forget to tell you? This is a fine-dining finger-food restaurant. So that means I get to sit here and watch you suck and lick those long, elegant fingers of yours, and it has nothing to do with sex…it’s purely for nutritional purposes.”

  Reagan licked her lips then and had to admit she loved this sneaky, cheeky side of Evan. It appealed to her in every way imaginable.

  “Really? You really picked a place where I would sit across from you and basically stimulate you all evening for the price of a meal? It better be a damn good one, Evan,” she said, and hoped in the back of her mind that he was becoming as aroused by the looks and conversation as she was.

  “I have a feeling it’s going to be worth the discomfort of an hour or two, to say the least.”

  Feeling slightly less out of place, and a lot more smug at his admission, Reagan picked up a menu and sat back in her chair. Reading over the choi
ces, she felt a sassy smirk hit her lips as she raised her eyes and pinned him with a molten stare.

  “This king shrimp looks good, and the sauce sounds delicious.” When Evan’s eyes met hers, she couldn’t help but add, “I mean, who doesn’t like a good cream sauce?”

  Evan grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and he nodded. “I’ve always been a fan of a delicate cream sauce…the kind that melts in your mouth. We should get two.”

  “Greedy,” she remarked, and they both looked up as the waiter came by to tell them the specials. It all sounded amazing to her, so she went ahead and placed her order, and then sat back to watch Evan do the same.

  “Is red wine okay with you?” he asked, turning his attention back to her.

  “Perfect.”

  Once he’d made his selections, he took the napkin from the table and set it across his lap, and she made sure he noticed her following that move.

  “See something you like?” he asked, his lips tipped up in amusement.

  Something about the night was making her feel bolder than usual. Not that she was ever a shrinking violet, but having no attachments meant she was always in control, and here, it was quite clear that was not the case. She couldn’t put her finger on what the change was, but even without that sense of power, she suddenly felt fearless, as though there were no consequences to her actions and no fear of falling.

  Well, the last part wasn’t true—she was definitely falling.

  Drinking him in, she said, “I’m finding it hard to see something I don’t like.”

  Something in her tone must have relayed her seriousness, because the grin that had started to form on his lips drew into a tight line instead.

  “Well, don’t look too close.”

  Reagan made sure she had his full attention as she let her eyes wander over all she could see.

  “I’ve been looking at you for the past several weeks, and I have to say, Mr. James, I most certainly like what I’m seeing.”

  He seemed slightly thrown by her comment, and she wondered what he was thinking as he sat there, all the ease having left him.

  “Oh come on, you have to know you’re improving,” she added, realizing that somehow her comment had changed the mood at the table from flirty to solemn. He looked as if he were about two steps from getting up and leaving. “Let’s change the subject, then,” she said, hoping to get some kind of response other than the stoic expression he was currently wearing.

  “So, for our first date, you took me to a restaurant in…Brooklyn. Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous and all, but come on, you can spill…” She leaned across the table and made sure she had his full attention as she whispered, “It’s because you’re good with your fingers, right?”

  Just as she’d hoped, Evan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at her teasing tone.

  “You’re a minx, Ms. Spencer. A naughty little minx.”

  She slicked her tongue along her glossy lower lip and sat back slowly, happy to see he had come back out to play.

  “As if you’re one to talk.”

  The waiter arrived at their table right before Evan could respond, and he placed their meals down and poured them each a glass of red. As he walked away, Reagan reached for her wine glass and absentmindedly ran her index finger around the top of the rim before raising her eyes to the man seated across from her.

  He was watching her with a look on his face she couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t the serious expression from moments ago, and it certainly wasn’t the playful Evan she’d become accustomed to. No, this was a look of recognition, almost as if—

  “Huh. I swear you just made me have some sort of déjà vu. You with your curls and that thing you just did with the glass.” He gestured at it with a nod, and Reagan immediately pulled her hand away.

  Fuck. She didn’t even realize she’d been doing it.

  “Nervous habit?”

  Putting her hands under the table to keep them the hell out of trouble, she shook her head and felt her damn curls brushing her cheeks. What had she been thinking wearing her hair this way?

  “No,” she said quickly. “I’ve got nothing to be nervous about…do I?”

  Evan shrugged and thankfully let it go. “Not that I’m aware of. You’re one of the most put-together females I’ve ever met. And one of the sexiest.”

  Reagan picked up one of her shrimp and then aimed what she hoped was an indecent smile in Evan’s direction as she dipped it in the sauce and brought it up to her mouth.

  He watched her with intense focus as she parted her lips and slipped the succulent piece of shrimp between her teeth, sliding the shellfish out of her mouth and sucking the creamy sauce from its flesh.

  “How many of those shrimp do you have?” Evan asked as he glanced down at her plate.

  She gave a soft chuckle and counted. “Looks like eight…unless you feel like sharing yours with me.”

  He picked up one of his own shrimp and dipped it in the sauce before telling her, “You suck yours, and I’ll suck mine.”

  “Hmm, I think you actually mean vice versa. Maybe you could suck mine, and I could—”

  Evan coughed mid-chew and then swallowed before replying, “Jesus, Reagan, you can’t say that shit to me here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m trying to wine and dine you, but if you keep up with those comments, you won’t get your dessert.”

  “Oh, I plan on getting dessert.”

  “Reagan…” Evan growled, clenching his napkin in one hand.

  Reagan’s eyes widened innocently as she picked up her glass of wine and looked out across the East River. “Gorgeous view, wouldn’t you say?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Evan shaking his head before following her gaze.

  It really was beautiful. The city lights stood out in contrast against the mix of an ink-stained sky, and she found herself saying, “Thank you.”

  She could see puzzlement cross Evan’s features in his reflection, and he responded, “Thank you?”

  “You picked a gorgeous spot to wine and dine me. So thank you. But if you don’t mind”—she glanced at him with her brow raised—“I’d like to pick where we have dessert.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AFTER THEY’D ENJOYED their delicious meal, Reagan had indeed taken Evan to her favorite dessert spot—her third-floor walk-up apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.

  He’d been torturous to watch over the past two hours, making sure she’d caught every lick of his fingers and the way he sucked in his bottom lip to catch the last drop of sauce from his prawns. Clearly, the venue had been chosen with great purpose—not that she was complaining.

  She’d been serious when she’d told Evan she didn’t do repeats. But the man she’d gone home with all those weeks ago was not the same one who followed her inside her loft now.

  Since that night, her head had been warring with her heart over how to handle the polar emotions she felt every time he was near. Hell, she even felt them every time he wasn’t.

  Before their little bet, she’d been standing firm on the side of “nothing more than professional association with Evan with a smidgen of friendship thrown in.” They’d work together, she’d give him an ear when he needed it…

  That, however, had proved impossible to maintain after this week. Her carefully guarded exterior crumbled with every smirk of his lips and every inappropriate message on her coffee cup. As much as her head knew what would happen now could only lead to disaster, she was selfish enough to ignore the warning.

  She wanted him. She’d always wanted him. How could she possibly walk away from the chance to be with him, no matter what the fallout entailed?

  The answer to that came easier than her next breath—she couldn’t.

  “Have to say”—Evan broke the silence as Reagan dropped her keys and bag on the foyer table—“I wasn’t expecting an invite back to your place when you mentioned dessert.”

  “No?” she asked as she looked at
him over her shoulder.

  He’d turned to shut her front door behind him, and when he glanced back to where she was standing, she felt her thighs clench at the heat aimed her way.

  “No. But that’s not to say I’m disappointed.”

  Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she made her way into the open living space. Evan wasn’t far behind; she could tell because lately she seemed to pick up on every little thing he did, and right now, she knew he’d stopped near the entrance to stare at her black-and-white photographs—the ones she’d taken when she first moved to the city several years ago.

  “I really love these,” he said, his voice more serious than she’d heard before. “Did you take them?”

  “Yes,” she replied, offering no more as she pushed a curl behind her ear.

  “You’re really private about your artwork, aren’t you, Reagan?” Evan asked as he slid one of his hands into his pockets and started to walk toward her.

  Trying to play it cool, she gave a quick shrug but also said, “I told you last weekend. It’s just a hobby I like to do in my spare time.”

  “Yes, one where you make up stories, I believe you mentioned.”

  “That’s right.”

  She saw him glance beyond her shoulder to the bookshelves behind her, and when his mouth curved into a wicked smile, she wondered what exactly he was thinking. He stepped around her, and she spun on her toes to see him heading for the spot she kept her cameras, tripods, bags, and film.

  “Sure…feel free to look around, Evan.”

  Without even sparing her a look, he said, “Hey, you’re the one that invited me in.”

  Frowning, she waited to see what he was doing. When he reached for the Polaroid camera on the second shelf and turned back to face her, Reagan suddenly had a flash of him, sans clothing, lounging on her bed, and her snapping all kinds of “scenery” shots.

  “Now, this…this is interesting,” he remarked.

  Deciding now wasn’t the time to be coy, Reagan raised a brow before responding. “It’s a Polaroid. I’m sure you’ve seen one of those before. It gives you an instant photo.”