by Colet Abedi
Madly Addicted
A Mad Love Novella
Colet Abedi
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Colet Abedi
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Colet Abedi All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library
of Congress.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without the written permission of the
publisher, except where permitted by law.
Cover Design: Jennifer Watson, Social Butterfly PR
Chapter 1
Two Months Later
Clayton
I’m addicted.
I love watching her sleep.
It’s become my favorite pastime.
It’s insane, actually.
I’m thoroughly, completely, unbelievably, addicted.
She delights me in every way. In bed and out of it.
I love her wit. Her intelligence. Her innocence. And fuck, if I don’t love that hot body she’s always walking around tempting me with.
I look over at the clock and silently curse. It’s four am in Los Angeles, an ungodly hour, but I have to get up for an important company conference call. I need to start paying more attention to my business and not my cock, even though I prefer the latter.
I slip away from Sophie’s naked body and am happy to hear her moan in displeasure.
She needs me just as much as I need her.
This insatiable fire that exists between us is something I’ve come to accept. It’s a goddamn inferno and every time I have her, I only want more.
Jesus. I’m addicted.
When I left London with Sophie over two months ago, I never imagined I would actually think about buying a place in Los Angeles and setting up a remote office. I just got on the plane with her and the only thought that went through my mind was I didn’t want to be without her. I needed her.
It’s madness.
I hate LA. I don’t want to live here, but I can’t leave her. This woman, who is peacefully sleeping and hopefully dreaming of me, has gotten under my skin like nothing I could have ever imagined.
I brush her thick, sun-kissed, brown hair away from her stunning face and smile when she moves into my touch. I feel myself get hard. Christ, even after all this time I can’t seem to get enough of her.
“Where are you going?” she whispers to me. She sounds exhausted and I don’t blame her.
I kept her up until a few hours ago, alternating between fucking and making love to her.
And yes, there is a difference.
“I’ve got a business call,” I tell her. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
I lean down and kiss her on the cheek and pull the duvet up to cover her shoulders in case she gets cold without me. If my friends could see me now.
Clayton Astor Sinclair.
Serial womanizer.
The wolf of London.
Brought to his knees by an American girl.
Fuck. Me.
I walk out of Sophie’s bedroom and curse the small space for the thousandth time.
She lives in a goddamn box.
It’s the size of my closet at home. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve asked her to let me get her a bigger place. Every time I pose the question, she acts as if I’ve killed a member of her family.
So I’ve stopped asking and just decided to take matters into my own hands.
Like I always do.
I hired a realtor, saw a few penthouses on Wilshire Blvd. in Westwood and found one I think she’ll like.
She has no idea I’m about to close escrow. I figure I’ll wait to break the news to her, to save us another unnecessary argument, though our fights usually lead to incredible ‘I fuck her until she’s begging for release and screaming my name, sex.’
I grab my lounge pants and slip them on before I step out into her tiny living room. It won’t matter where I stand of course, in the kitchen, or the bathroom or the TV room, she’ll probably end up hearing the whole damn conversation.
I pick up my phone and am surprised to see I’ve missed a call from my brother, Michael. If possible, he and I have grown even closer since William’s death. I still can’t believe it. Our baby brother, gone.
For the thousandth time, I curse God for taking him too soon. I try not to go down that path and mind fuck myself. Because that’s what grief does- it leads you to a dark place where you feel like you’re drowning and there’s no hope or light in sight.
Except when I go there now, I try and focus on Sophie.
And for some reason I can’t explain, it gives me peace.
I know. My thought process is abominable. Cringe worthy, really. When the hell did I become this person? It’s astounding. My internal dialogue can be used for the American corporation Hallmark.
What the bloody hell is wrong with me?
The phone rings. It’s Michael.
“It’s a little early for you to be answering?” It’s hard not to miss the amusement in his voice. “I thought I’d be sent to voicemail.”
“Don’t even start,” I grumble.
“How’s Sophie?” He asks.
“Perfect,” I reply automatically.
Shit.
Did I just say that out loud?
Michael’s laughter assures me that I did.
“Fuck you,” I’m annoyed.
“No thanks,” he replies. “But Sophie on the other hand-”
“Michael-” My voice takes on a cold edge. I can’t stop the feeling of raw possessiveness that washes over me- just from hearing his words.
Michael bursts out laughing.
“Jesus, brother,” he says. “I’m only kidding.”
“I don’t find that amusing in the least.”
Joke or not, there is nothing funny about it.
Because unlike any other woman I’ve been with, I feel something different with Sophie.
More.
She belongs to me.
And the thought of any man desiring her, having her the way I do, makes me crazy with jealous rage. I wish I could control the inferno she causes in me, but it’s completely out of my control- a novel experience. In my entire life, I’ve never lost control and now I’m like a ticking time bomb.
“Calm down, Clayton,” Michael says to me. “I was just trying to get a reaction out of you.”
And he did.
So easily.
“What do you want?” I snap.
“Just checking in,” my brother tells me. “And wondering if Los Angeles is your permanent residence now or if you plan on coming back to London anytime soon?”
Not without Sophie.
I don’t tell my brother that but instead, change the subject to the obligatory small talk. He’s been based in London for a while, which is unlike him but I don’t question it because I suppose he’s remained there for the family. A duty I’ve completely forsaken just so I can be close to Sophie. I know I won’t be able to st
ay here much longer. I’ll have to go back. I just need to make sure that she’ll come with me.
I get off the phone with Michael when my secretary rings in and I sit down on the couch as I wait to be patched into my conference call. My eyes drift over to the wall that separates Sophie and me.
I hate myself for thinking about how she’s peacefully sleeping in bed, all alone. And naked.
Gloriously, naked.
God, I want her.
Again.
How is that even humanly possible?
I should be done. Finished. Moving on to the next hot body. Like the way it’s always been in the past, but no, this is different.
She’s different.
Hell, I knew it from the moment I set eyes on her in that lounge airport in the Maldives. I felt a pull to her. I couldn’t even see her eyes because she had those sunglasses on, but I was drawn in, on some magnetic level.
What the hell is that?
What kind of man have I become that I’m even having these thoughts? Magnetic level?
Who am I?
And then it hits me in horror.
Sophie Walker is my Achilles heel.
Fuck. Me.
Chapter 2
Sophie
If heaven had a name, it would be Clayton Sinclair.
I think it might be a crime to be so happy. If I could start skipping along Canon Drive in Beverly Hills with a big, stupid, grin on my face, I totally would. And honestly, so many people are medicated here in Los Angeles, they might not even think anything of it.
“You’re smiling like you just escaped an insane asylum,” Erik grumbles at me as I make my way over to the table he’s booked at my favorite Italian Restaurant, Il Pastaio.
Since the weather is nice, he’s gotten us a table outside where he can do plenty of people watching, which is one of his favorite pastimes.
“Buddha said, ‘happiness is the way’,” I say as I sit down across from him.
“Oh for God’s sake,” Erik mutters. “I have videos saved on my iPhone of you laying in a fetal position, wailing like a goddamn two-year-old under my and Orie’s coffee table, all while nursing a bottle of wine. That wasn’t happy. That was sad. And I’m pretty sure Buddha wouldn’t be feeling that behavior.”
I wave Erik’s comment off.
He’s my best friend. And he has no filter, which means I’m always hit with his brutal honesty.
Even if it sucks.
And to be frank, it usually does.
“I’ve let it go,” I tell him honestly.
“Let it go?” Erik inquires with a raised brow. “Let me guess, did Justin Bieber say that?”
I burst out laughing and he joins in.
“Since I haven’t seen you in over a week I’ll go easy on you,” Erik informs me.
“If this is easy, I can’t wait to see your hard-”
“Honey, you’ll never see my hard.”
How did I fall right into that?
“It’s too easy,” Erik says as he reads my face. “So how have you and lover boy been? And just so you know, I picture you chained to a bed, experiencing sexual pleasure after pleasure. And orgasms. Lots of them.”
That sounds about right.
“He’s just incredible and that’s not far from the truth,” I give him a stupid grin. “What can I say? I just love him, Erik. He’s my fantasy come to life.”
“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Erik rolls his eyes.
I laugh his comment off because I know I sound cheesy.
“And your parents?” Erik goes on.
There goes my crazy smile.
I try not to grimace.
To my utter surprise, my mom has taken Clayton in like a long lost son. I think his crazy good looks and charm have something to do with it, whatever the case, I’ll take it because she’s always the one out of the two that’s so hard to please. Hell, she’s hated every decision I’ve ever made from the time I started kindergarten. I’m just grateful this is one she finally approves of.
My dad, on the other hand--
Now that’s a completely different story.
When Clayton and I arrived in Los Angeles, I had wanted my parents to meet him right away. I’d arranged a dinner at my dad’s favorite steakhouse, Cut, and the four of us had gone. It turned out to be the most uncomfortable dinner I’d ever had in my life.
Hands down.
My father had been suspiciously quiet the entire evening and had even to my horror shot Clayton some seriously angry looks. To Clayton’s credit, he had taken it all in stride and remained perfectly pleasant, even going out of his way to fill all the awkward silent moments with meaningless conversation. I had expected my dad to grill Clayton like he was cross-examining someone in one of his court cases, but that had not happened. He had remained dangerously quiet, just taking it all in, which scared me even more. My father’s silence was known to be lethal.
When the torturous evening was finally over and the bill arrived, Clayton being his usual generous self had taken care of it before my parents could even offer. That was another awful moment as well. I thought the veins in my dad’s neck would burst. My mom had to kick him under the table to say thank you.
When I apologized to Clayton on our way back home to my apartment that night, he had just squeezed my hand in assurance.
“He’s protective, baby,” he hadn’t sounded concerned at all. “I respect him for that. And I wouldn’t expect anything less. It will be fine. Don’t worry.”
I almost believed him, and then just let him distract me with more mind-blowing sex.
But then, dad had sent me a text the following morning.
The next time you come home to see your mother and I, please do so alone. Dad.
I hadn’t told Clayton about his command because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Not that I thought Clayton would be hurt since he seemed, for the most part, to have a heart made of steel. But still. I didn’t want to risk it. But my dad’s request spoke volumes.
If life didn’t get any crazier, my mom, of all people was trying to play peacemaker. I knew it would eventually come to head with my dad, but I was loathed to address it. We just danced around the issue. He pretended Clayton wasn’t in my life, and I just went with it because I didn’t want to rock the boat any more than I already had with them. The list of grievances was long. I’d dropped out of law school. Broke up with Jerry. And now, basically living with a man I’d only known for less than six months.
I guess I’m lucky they haven’t decided to disown me.
“Your dad still thinks Clayton is an SOB,” Erik deduces knowingly.
“Pretty much,” I tell him as my mood darkens.
Erik shrugs.
“He’ll get over it. Eventually.”
Eventually.
God, how long will that take? I’m afraid to even guess. The waiter brings over a bottle of Sancerre and sticks it in an ice bucket next to our table.
“I hope you took an Uber,” Erik says.
I shake my head.
“Well, you’ll have to take one home because we’re celebrating.”
I wait for the waiter to pour us both a glass and leave before I question him.
“Did you get hired on another fabulous job?” I ask Erik as I lift my glass.
“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s better than that.”
He lifts his wine glass and looks at me. He seems nervous, which is so unlike him.
“What is it?” I prod.
“Sophie Walker,” he begins solemnly. “Will you be my maid of honor?”
I scream.
Literally.
Scream. And when I’m done, I burst into tears of joy and stand up to run into my friend’s arms.
“Jesus!” Erik says but his voice is full of emotion. “Don’t worry, Orie and I have already picked out the dress we want you to wear and it’s couture.”
“Oh my God!” I cry. “When?”
“Two nights ago,” he tells me. �
�I figure I deserve my own happily ever after. You’re not riding off into the sunset alone.”
“You so deserve to have a fairytale ending,” I tell him emotionally. “I have to call Orie-”
“He’s on his way here so you can congratulate him when you see him,” Erik says. “Now go sit down so I can tell you what we’re thinking.”
I make my way back to my seat, a complete hot mess, overcome with the emotion of it all. Erik married? Holy shit. What’s next? Kids?
“What’s that face?” Erik asks.
“I’m in a state of happy shock,” I explain. “Can’t I have my moment?”
My best friend in the world married. I’m beyond happy for him. And nostalgic. Moments from our friendship flash before my eyes. All the years, all the laughs and tears… leading up to this. We really were growing up.
Erik lifts a brow.
“Alright! Tell me everything. Knowing you two, the whole thing is already planned,” I finally say as I shake the thoughts away.
Erik smiles.
“Duh.com,” he says then proceeds to give me the details. “So we’re going to have a destination wedding.”
“Of course you are,” I’m not surprised. “Where?”
“South Africa,” Erik says in excitement. “And then we’re doing a group safari.”
Three hours later, and about a hundred, what I know tomorrow, will be very embarrassing drunken texts to Clayton, it’s time for me leave. As I predicted would happen, Clayton insisted on sending a car for me. I tried to do the whole ‘drunk argument’ with him on the phone telling him I could take a taxi home, but he wouldn’t have it.
I’m surprised when I get inside the car and see him waiting for me in the backseat of the black SUV.
His gaze is inscrutable as he takes in my appearance.
“Have fun?”
I nod my head and don’t even care if I look and sound like a hot mess. I burst into tears and throw myself into his strong arms.
“Why are you crying?” he laughs.
I shake my head in his neck.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I’m just so happy for Erik and Orie. I can’t believe it. They’re getting married! It’s so crazy, but then it’s not. I love them so much and am just overcome by it all.”