And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2)

by Delilah Frost

  A stingy mattress in the middle of the room has claimed me. And I won’t be budged.

  My eyes scan a stain on the ceiling. There’s no apartment above mine. Makes me wonder how destroyed the roof has become to allow for this yellowed stain to appear and grow.

  “Delane! Where the fuck are you! You’re up, man!”

  “Come on, Chace. We know you’re up there!”

  There are new calls for my presence but I ignore.

  They can yell until their throats are raw.

  I focus on my breathing. The way the oxygen flows in and out of my lungs. They way my heart speeds and slows with every breath I give and take. The way my ribs twinge against the blow that didn’t cause enough damage to bruise, just be noticeable.

  I blink slowly. Feel my fingers twitch against their resting spot on my chest. The cotton is soft but the jeans I’m wearing feel rough against my legs. Reminds me I need to do laundry sometime soon.

  There’s a knock on my door. A soft quick seven tap.

  I know who it is without needing to ask. Only one person I know gives me that knock. Their superstition too great.

  I can’t help it. My lips twitch. My lips twitch into a small grin and my pants tighten.

  I don’t say anything, grant no entry, but the door opens all the same.

  And there she is.

  Cecelia Santos. Celia. My beautiful goddess.

  Honey hair. Chocolate eyes. Delicious skin making her look more fragile than she ever could be.

  Fire. Ice. Lust. Love. The Devil’s Queen and just as ruthless. If not more.

  She doesn’t speak as she moves toward where I lay. I barely hear her breathing.

  But I feel her life. Her heat.

  I stretch out my arm for her to rest beside me.

  Her lithe body molds against mine. She’s wearing a short frilly skirt. It’s a blue plaid and screams naughty school girl. If she bends over, her ass and pussy are on full display since my baby has never been a fan of panties.

  And her tank top… it’s a luscious violet that has sculpted itself against her beautiful breasts. She’s braless too which makes me harder to know.

  “Everyone is waiting for you. They want to celebrate their reigning champion,” she whispers against my ear. Her tongue follows, tracing the shell while her left hand dances across my stomach toward the button on my jeans.

  “Fuck ‘em,” I tell her and she just giggles at me. My pants are undone, the button open and the zipper pushed down.

  “Maybe later,” she answers back with another giggle.

  That reply should bother me. It does bother me. The guys on the street. The ones calling for me to join them; they know Celia. They know her taste, her sounds. They know the way she moves. They know the way she comes and all the ways to make them come too.

  It eats away at me that she’s not mine alone anymore. It tears apart everything I am. But I use it as motivation when I face them.

  It makes my resolve for this time different too. I’m changing the stakes. Throwing down an ultimatum because I can’t take it anymore.

  She probably won’t like it. But fuck, I’m not playing these games any longer.

  Moving away from my side, she works my jeans down my thighs to my knees. Not being a fan of underwear myself, my cock springs free, pointing right at her. Her eyes are fierce as they take me in. Her pink tongue wets her glossed lips before she lowers her mouth to the head, licking the tear of precum that's already gathered.

  Celia knows exactly what to do to make my mind go completely blank. She’s the only woman I’ve ever known who could make this death feel exquisite. And it seems that every time we’re together, I die a little more.

  As her mouth engulfs me, her tongue circling so deliciously around my length, tugging on my apadravya, every thought I’ve just had vanishes.

  I’ll deal with reality later.

  My hands move to her hair, pulling it into my fist so I can watch her mouth love me.

  “Fuck, baby,” I gasp as her teeth skim my length over and over. I never thought I’d be one for teeth, especially given what I’d always heard about how painful it was, but then I met Celia. She likes to bite a bit, let that sting become pleasure and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. NWA don’t know what they’re missing out on “God, you’re mouth feels so fucking good. You make me want to explode down that pretty little throat of yours.” I tell her through a grunt. “But I need to fuck you.”

  I don’t give any warning, just push her mouth away and pull her up the length of my body. I feel her heat; wet and wanton, resting over my cock. She’s panting, that wicked glint in her eyes. “Fuck me so good I scream, baby,” she demands.

  For a moment I’m struck dumb at her request. The guys are right outside my window. My apartment isn’t that far up from the street. She knows they’ll hear. She knows they’ll know.

  What the fuck is she trying to do? What game is she trying to play?

  It makes me wonder. It makes me angry.

  Is she trying to start shit? Is she trying to piss them off by letting the whole fucking world know it’s me who’s inside her? It’s me fucking her till she’s incoherent? That while they’re hollering on the street for me to “get my ass down there already,” she’s taking me into her, letting them know I have her taste, her touch, her sounds?

  Then I wonder, and this is a wonder I’m hoping for; is she staking her claim the way I want to but haven’t felt the right to? Is she telling them to fuck off? Is she telling them she’s chosen who she wants singularly and that that someone is me?

  Because fuck! I want her all to myself so fucking bad I can’t breathe sometimes.

  She rises up and positions me at her entrance. Then slowly, as though time has stopped, she slips me into her welcoming heat my piercing dragging along her inner walls.

  As with every time before, I know given the fact that I don’t know who all she's been with that I will always need a condom. But fuck, I just want to feel her. I just want her. Like we used to be. So I continue to let logic and rationale fall aside as she sinks all the way down onto me.

  I can’t help the groan that flows freely from my lips. I can’t help the grip I place on her hips to steady her over me.

  With hungry eyes, I watch her pull her tank over her head, exposing those alluring tits to my eyes. Her nipples are hard, the small bars pierced through them gleaming in the passing light.

  She’s so fucking perfect. So fucking perfect and I can’t play anymore.

  I bring my mouth to her tits, gripping them harshly with one hand while the other kneads her round ass. She thrusts her chest toward my face, delicate hands holding my head to her. She’s writhing against me as my mouth sucks, nibbles and marks her perfect breasts.

  Her sounds, the raspy moans only spur me on. I’m so hard inside of her it’s becoming painful.

  Pushing her back slightly, I yank my shirt over my head and then wrap my arms around her pulling her tight against me as I lower my mouth to take a nipple back into my mouth.

  With moans breaking from her throat, I grip her hips. This won’t be soft. This won’t be gentle. My anger, my desire, my absolute need for her is overwhelming my senses. The primal part of me is staking his claim.

  Push. Pull. Thrust. Retreat. Repeat.

  I grind our bodies together. Sweat builds against my skin, making her clawing fingers slip.

  My mouth crashes against hers as I claim her tongue.

  Our breaths mingle as our bodies continue to rock against one another. I feel her nipples brush against my chest with every thrust and it makes the coil in my belly string tighter.

  “Fuck, Celia!” I gasp against her lips. “I can’t do this anymore.” I flip us so she’s on her back. Opening her legs further, I pull out and place my mouth right where my cock was. My tongue laps at her juices, slipping into her tight hole before slipping up to nibble on her clit. Her hands are in my hair, gripping, pulling and scratching my scalp.

  I look up
and love my view. Her perfect tits are thrust up, her back arched as she succumbs to the pleasure my mouth is bringing to her. I want to make her come this way. I want to taste her desire before I pound into her again.

  With a groan, I eat Cecelia’s pussy like I kiss her. It’s slow, sensual and purposeful. And with a graze of my teeth against her clit, she shatters with keening mewls. Juices spill out into my waiting mouth as she continues to rock against my face. Just as I feel her tremors start to slow, I pull away and line my cock up with her entrance.

  I don’t give warning, I just slam into her, feeling how tight she is still in the throes of her orgasm. It feels amazing and life-altering. I push in deeper. “Fuck! I can’t share anymore or act like it’s okay. I can’t do it,” I tell her, desperation obvious in my voice.

  As my pace increases, I feel her clamp down on me. Her eyes bore into mine before shutting so tight. And then she screams for the universe to hear. And it’s my name slipping through those perfect pink lips.

  Her nails peel down my back, no doubt leaving bloody trails in their wake, as she quakes through her second orgasm.

  “Fuck, Chace,” she whimpers, her body clamping down on mine. But it’s her next words that finish me off. “I’m all yours.”

  I come so hard my vision abandons me.

  All I see is white. My balls empty into the depths of her body and my skin tingles from the explosion.

  Collapsing onto her, my breath ragged and nearly lost, I almost don’t believe what I’ve heard.

  “What? What did you say?” I gasp out.

  I pull myself up, so I can look at her. There’s tears in her eyes.

  “I said I’m all yours,” she repeats. “I’m only yours.”

  “But what…what about the ot-other guys?” Even as I ask, my stomach turns. I’ve not yet softened, still nestled in her body, but the thought of the others with her makes me ill. I pull out because I do not want to have this conversation this way.

  She shakes her head. “It’s always been you,” she begins. We both sit up and look at each other. “Do you remember the first time we met?” I nod unsure where she’s going with this. She just smiles sadly at me. “Remember how messed up I really was? How even in the middle of getting help, I was trying so hard to stay lost because I didn't think anyone really cared?”

  I hate remembering that time. I hate thinking back to it because she’s not that person anymore. Neither am I. And yet, I don’t know if we’re really any better off. Not with the life we both lead now.

  “What about it?”

  “You saved me, Chace. I pretended I was trying to just get out of there, but I stayed clean, I stayed on the straight for you,” she tells me. Her eyes are downcast toward the dingy mattress.

  I shake my head because her words are manipulating me. “And after?” I ask still feeling the presence of the guys downstairs all around her. “After we got out. And every moment since?”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve fucked all of my friends.”

  “Your friends? What are you talking about?”

  “Those guys down there.” I point toward the window with a growl.

  “You can’t be serious. Those guys are not your friends.” She shakes her head at me like I’m dumb. “Especially with the way they act around you.”

  “Who the fuck cares what they are! You still fucked them!” I realize I’m a half-step from yelling so I lower my tone. It doesn’t stop Celia from lowering her voice though.

  “That’s not true!” she cries, pulling away and slipping her tank over her head. Her skimpy skirt follows. Her face is red with anger, her eyes burning fire my way.

  I force myself to ignore knowing my cum is no doubt leaking down her thighs with every movement she makes.

  “No? No? Then why the fuck do you flirt with every-fucking-one of those guys down there in front of me? Why do they taunt me when we fight? Why do they talk about the sounds you make?”

  “Really? For being a smart guy, you are a fucking idiot who doesn’t pay attention to anything you should.” She’s standing now, though her voice is lower, lethal. “I flirt with them because it distracts them. They’re not thinking about the fight. So you have an even better shot at winning.” She looks away from me toward the window, where the sounds of the guys grumbling and bitching can be heard. They heard us fucking and now they’re pissed. “And they taunt you to distract you. If they talk and act like I was with them, it pulls you out of the fight so they can try to win. They’re endgame has always been to throw you off your game.”

  “But all they do is piss me off and make me fight harder,” I counter. Truthfully, Celia and I aren’t officially together, and haven't been for some time. Fucking here and there is not a real relationship make. No matter how badly I want things to go back to how they used to be. But those guys know how things once were between us, and I know they know how bad I want her back.

  “Why do you think I don’t defend against it then? Why do you think I let your anger build?”

  I go to open my mouth and find it snapping shut. Fuck if her reasoning doesn’t make sense. And I can see it all so perfectly. The guys she flirts with are always the ones I’m about to fight against. Or the ones I know I have to work harder to beat because they are trying to prove they’re somehow better. And anytime any of those dickheads try to act like they’ve had her, I see red and pummel them harder.

  But….

  “What about Frankie?” I ask and her face pales into something akin to sadness. As much as I hate thinking about my former best friend, about him and her, I can’t get it out of my head no matter what I do. And walking into my fucking bedroom to escape a party to see Cecelia riding that piece of shit years ago still makes my blood boil. “Were you just flirting with him too when you were bouncing on his dick?”

  With a heavy breath, she drops to her knees before me. She doesn’t look nearly as guilty as I expect her to. Instead, she looks devastated. “You were with Hayley,” she simply responds and my heart shatters.

  It’s my turn to look away. It’s my turn to feel the guilt I was trying to push at her. Hayley Roberts. My one month mistake, but which was really spread out over six. She manipulated everyone she came into contact with simply because she was a bored little rich girl who wanted to slum it for fun. She turned me against Celia, made me think she was playing me, and what did I do? Believed her. I believed her and then I fucked her breaking Celia’s heart in the process.

  And whether Celia ever admits to it, I know what I did hurt her so fucking badly. I took years of us, together, took the vow we made to one another in rehab, and just threw them away. And because the taunts from the guys had started to intensify, I listened to Hayley tell me they were true, that Celia really did mess around on me, that she really did fuck others and played me for a fool and was bragging about it. In the end, I was the only one who made me a fool.

  For six months I let my head be filled with lies and manipulations. For a six months, I pushed away from the only person who ever meant anything to me. I am so fucking thankful the damage wasn’t irreparable between us that Cecelia never spoke to me again.

  It’s interesting to think, every guy talks up big about chick fights. And if they’re about you, your ego tends to swell. I mean really, who wouldn’t want two women fighting over them? It’s hot to think about, right? Maybe clothes will be ripped. Maybe the fight will turn into something less violent and become sexier. But that’s not the reality. At all. Those fuckers have never had one actually happen to them. Never seen one happen for them. After I pulled my head out of my ass, and Hayley was discovered to be the manipulative bitch that she is, Celia nearly killed her.

  It wasn’t a cat fight. It wasn’t a girl fight. It was an all-out brawl, even harsher than the fights I willingly put myself in for money.

  It was years of oppression bearing down. Years of anger at being abandoned and forgotten by those meant to be there for you. It was the loss of us and
what we always were to each other that broke Cecelia Santos to the point where when Hayley was bussed away, no one expected her to live.

  She was lucky as hell Cecelia was pulled off of her when she was because she might not have lived, now that I think about it.

  Last I heard, Hayley Roberts was low functioning in some treatment center in Florida. Her “attacker” had never been identified, though it was reported in the news to be a possible robbery gone badly, especially given the shady neighborhood she’d been found in.

  With her lack of motor function, it’s not like Hayley would be talking anytime soon.

  “We were over, Chace. You wished me gone. And I tried to be, but I…I just thought if I could talk to you, make you see, that things could be fixed somehow. But instead,” she trails off, her eyes watering slightly. “Instead, I saw you with…and Frankie was there. He was willing. I was angry. I went about things the wrong way, but it’s not like I’m known for making the right decision every time something bad happens,” Celia says, bringing me back to the conversation.

  I nod, my throat tight. The image in my head of the two of them returns full-force. Except this time I see it for what it was. She hated me in that moment and got back at me good. And I fucking deserved it. Because even though I was never with Hayley, to the outside world, to Cecelia, it certainly looked like I had been.

  Not that I deserved retribution from Frankie, but that fucker showed his true colors in that moment and life has moved on without his ass around. If he ever returns to Chicago, he knows he’ll be dealt with. I don’t expect him to come back.

  It’s funny, in a non-funny way, to think about the fact that I have this image. I’m a badass. I fight for a living. Not professionally with flashing lights and a big paycheck from Casinos, closer to Fight Club than anything, and all underground. I have tats covering most of my body, including images of Celia and me together that she drew of us. I have a pierced dick – because Cecilia thought it’d feel good for her and convinced me to do it when we were eighteen. But still, I have this image that I put out to the world; angry, threatening, lethal. And the world thinks I’ve fucked anything female with a pulse. I mean I thought Celia had. She has her own image, obviously. But I’ve only been with two people in all of my years of sexual activity.