And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2)

by Delilah Frost

  Shaking my head, I wipe her renegade tears. “I could never hate you, Celia. I could never ever feel that way. And I’m so sorry for everything. If I could go back in time and change it, I would. In a heartbeat.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I promise you, I never thought of you as a slut. Never once did it cross my mind.”

  “Liar.”

  “No, I swear. I just thought… well, I thought I just wasn’t that vital,” I tell her honestly. “In all the times I thought about you, it broke my heart. Especially the thought of you with someone else.”

  “Why did you still sleep with me after?”

  “Because I wanted you any way you would let me.” I can’t believe how much I screwed up with her. How hurt I made her. “That night, when you came to me and told me everything? All I could think about was ending our arrangement. I was done being an easy fuck for you. I wanted you and I wanted you to want me too. Exclusively. In fact,” I begin, letting it all out in the open. “My plan was to make you realize we belong together. To choose me and me alone. The fact that you said what you did, acted how you did, in the end, I didn’t need to. You staked your claim and that was that. But I always intended for you to know I love you and you alone. I don’t want anyone but you.”

  She looks down and away, her nose scrunched like she’s either trying to keep from crying, or she’s gathering her thoughts. It’s probably a combination of both at this point. “I never understood what you were doing, all that time. I mean you walk away, but after everything is said and done, you still fuck me. Why? It just didn’t make much sense.”

  “What about,” I begin but stop when my heart begins pounding. It’s a horrible question to ask, not because it’s actually bad, per say, but the idea of the whys of it are crushing. Still, I need to know. “Why did, um, why did you continue to sleep… with me… after everything?”

  “Truthfully?” she asks and though I nod, I feel hesitant. “Truthfully it was because even though you hurt me so fucking badly, you still gave me attention and I craved that so severely it was almost worse than the opiates.” I hang my head at her answer. It’s like the clichéd abused puppy, always coming back for more even though it deserves so much fucking better than the life it has. Well, that or the addict that either doesn’t know how to heal because they don’t have direction or desire or support, or they can’t heal because of a lack of those three things. I have a feeling, however, that Cecelia Santos is a combination of all of that.

  She had a junkie whore of a mother who loved drugs and money more than she loved Cecelia. Once that relationship crashed and burned, she was shipped off to a father who really hadn’t ever wanted her to begin with, regardless of how he had initially taken care of her and Sadie after her birth. So when she wasn’t the perfect child, when she wasn’t a bright and shining example of accomplishment, he didn’t really pay attention to her. Love her like she deserved, especially after receiving none from her mother.

  It’s really not a wonder she turned, or rather, chose to stay on drugs. Opiates help the user not feel anything they don’t want to feel. Heartbreak? Gone. Abandonment? Get away from that for a while. But there’s also the side of Celia that wanted so desperately to have Vinnie Santos’s attention that she used for the sake of gaining it. In the end, she still lost. And then I turned my back on her too. I feel my stomach turn knowing that while I was willing to take her any way I could get her, she was willing to give herself up completely just to have someone show any kind of attention or affection toward her.

  It really is hard to let go of the demons inside when at one time, they were the only ones there for you.

  “After um, after Hayley, after meeting you at that fight, when we were supposed to talk, you took me hard and fast. Do you remember?” she asks and I nod.

  “Yeah, I remember. You uh, you left quickly afterward,” I whisper. I don’t want to remember.

  Especially looking back on it. Looking back on how I acted. Accused. The way that flicker passed across Celia’s face that I didn’t understand at the time but can’t help but know now when I told her I wanted to see her again. While I was yearning for a chance, she was mistaking it for a roll in the sheets and nothing more.

  Like a slut.

  No one could understand why after every fight I won, I never took a girl home. At least no one other than Cecelia. Even during the disaster that was Hayley, I didn’t leave with her. She didn’t mean enough to me to celebrate with – not that I ever won during that time – or care to spend time with. So after Hayley was gone, and after I fought and defeated Danny, a now-retired fighter, I was flying high. My adrenaline was pumping, my body bouncing needing to keep moving, pushing.

  Celia had come to watch, like she always had before but for the first time in more than half a year. She wasn’t dressed up, wasn’t wearing anything actually revealing. Just her work uniform.

  She looked like a normal girl, just watching a bunch of guys beat the shit out of each other for money. But it was the way she was so understated, no makeup – not that she wears all that much anyhow – and just relaxed clothes on that made me want to take a girl home that night to celebrate my win.

  I didn’t think about how it would look, to her or anyone else. I didn’t think about how it would make her feel.

  “That night, I figured the damage had already been done. It didn’t matter if I’d been telling the truth the whole time,” she says through a sob that pierces me. “You may think you never thought of me as a slut, but that night, that night I felt like one. Really. And because of it, I let you use me and in turn, I was able to have a piece of you for as long as you were willing to let me have it.”

  THIRTEEN

  Sleep doesn’t come easy for me. I toss and turn, trying my best to not disturb Cecelia who seems just as restless. She manages to cry herself to sleep, in spite of, or perhaps because of my constant apologies. But I can’t stop them, even after I know she’s passed out. I need for her to realize how much I love her. I need for her to realize she is everything to me and I will forever hate myself for how I treated her. I will forever hate myself for how I made her feel about herself. I will never not be sorry.

  By the time dawn arrives, I’ve slept no more than two hours. I’m so thankful I don’t work weekends and that I’m not required to be up and at a job site like my coworkers are. Resting on my side, on my dingy mattress in my shitty apartment, I watch the rise and fall of Cecelia’s chest. She’s not naked. Neither of us are. She fell asleep in one of my shirts and I’m in my boxers.

  We didn’t have sex. After she exposed her agony, we both felt too exhausted for anything to happen. I did hold her all night though.

  Carefully, so that I don’t disturb her, I lift my left hand and trail my fingers across her face. Her skin is so soft, so clear. For an addict, she’s never had skin issues. It’s still the silky olive it’s always been. I can see her eyes moving rapidly behind the lids, her eyelashes resting against her cheek so delicately. Brushing my thumb across her lips, I feel her sigh against it.

  She’s so intoxicatingly beautiful. So completely captivating she actually steals my breath. I do not know how I got so lucky to have her love and devotion. From the moment when we were scared and lonely teenagers to this one right here; I can’t figure out how can possibly deserve not only her presence, but her affections.

  With a glance around my apartment, I take a moment to think about my life.

  I grew up in an affluent family, but you’d never have guessed it from how I view anything. While I never went without clothes or a roof over my head, to satisfy any need for attachment I may have had, I was forced onto a nanny or tutor. The fact Ben cares about me at all when we were kept separate for so much of my life is amazing to me.

  Despite all of that, all of that lack of affection and love in my upbringing from people who should have given it no questions asked, I understand it so very well. I want it. I want it with Cecelia. I know the type of place I live in doesn’t really mean much i
n the grand scheme of things. As evident by the fact that again, my parents have money, but that didn’t mean I was given anything of value, and the most valuable being their love. But I also know there is a sense of pride from having nice things. I want to bring Cecelia to my home and feel honor in where I live. Feel proud of the things I own, not to brag, but to simply be more respectful than a mattress of the floor.

  With this last fight, I managed to score nearly grand. I try not to spend my winnings, it sucks not always being able to make a real paycheck through the winter, so it’s always nice to hang onto what I make in fights. It hasn’t always been easy, as slow work and lack of winnings managed to deplete what I have saved. But I have a job that’s starting to get more stable and I’m winning again. I know that I can’t keep living in squalor. Even more, I can’t keep expecting Celia to put up with it. It’s true she doesn’t have the greatest of apartments either, especially considering she has a bitch of a roommate, but at least she has a real bed. It’s too back Ricky hates my fucking guts since I turned his ass down, otherwise I’d suggest Celia’s every night.

  Still, it gives me an idea.

  Looking back down at Celia, I can see she’s starting to wake. Her body tenses, stretching out long and deep until lashes flutter, and her gorgeous brown eyes open to rest on me. “Morning.”

  A shy smile plays across her lips and it makes me curious. I don’t recall in all the time I’ve known Cecelia Santos for her to ever be shy about anything. “Morning,” she mumbles and sits up, tugging the shirt down across her form. I’m confused by her actions, but she just keeps that shy smile on her face as she stands, keeping my shirt tugged down until she can escape to the bathroom with her clothes.

  After several minutes, Celia finally emerges from the bathroom, my shirt still on, but her jean shorts back on. “What’s going on, baby?” I ask with amusement in my tone. I don’t know how to feel about what just happened since never once have we been shy around one another. And I don’t want to think it has something to do with our conversation last night.

  Pink licks up from where the collar of my shirt exposes her throat all the way up to the roots of her hair. It’s quite the sight to see. “Um, well, I just,” she flounders, and I can see she’s actually very embarrassed. “We’ve never actually been together at the time, physically speaking, so I’ve always been able to avoid dealing with it but um, yeah.”

  Her response gives nothing away and I feel like I should be able to figure this out. “Uh, baby, you’re gonna have to give me more than that. What haven’t we been physically together for before?”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but Celia’s face turns a darker shade of pink. “My um, my period, Chace,” she mumbles.

  As her answer lilts into the emptiness of my apartment, I register her words, and then I start laughing. Hard. “I’m sorry,” I wheeze out. Because it’s so funny to think that for ten years, never once have I been in a situation with Cecelia where her menstrual cycle was an issue for us. Yes, we have had lots and lots of sex throughout our time knowing one another. No, we’ve never lived together. She’s always been very particular about that, and given the clusterfuck that was my stupidity with Hayley, I understand. Hated it, but understood it. So because of that fact, there were some nights where we hung out, but we didn’t engage in anything other than a movie and something to eat.

  I just never put it together that those times were because she was “out of commission” as it were. And no, I’m not one of those guys who thinks he gets a blow job while his chick gets nothing. I like making Cecelia feel good. Watching her come undone turns me on. If she volunteers to treat, I always want to return the favor, even with her objections that it’s just about me. Very rarely do either of us go without.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I try again. “I just didn’t expect that. I mean I know you get it, I just never really thought much about it. Why are you embarrassed?”

  She shrugs. “Because you’ve never been around when I got it. We’ve never been in bed together. I’ve spent years keeping it to myself.”

  Rising from my mattress, I walk to her and pull her into a hug. “Baby, don’t be embarrassed. It’s a part of your life. It’s not like you chose it,” I chuckle and she giggles. “It’s not going to gross me out, just so you know.”

  Looking up at me, she looks so innocent. Like maybe her whole life wasn’t the fuck up I know it to be. “You say that now.”

  “Cecelia, I’m not one of those guys that feels owed. I’m not one of those guys who…who won’t, you know?” It’s a little strange to come out and say I’m not opposed to period sex. For one, I’ve never had it. How can I be opposed to something I’ve never had? And two, I don’t know if Celia is open to the idea. Some women are fucking horny as hell – I have an older brother, he introduced me to porn, of all kinds, sue me – when they’re ragging while others would rather curl into a ball and wait it out. “So, you know, don’t hide from me.”

  “You would, I mean you want…that?” she asks with a frown.

  “I want you,” I say honestly. “If it’s something you want, I’m not going to tell you no. We can do it with a towel, in the shower, or hell, we can just not do anything at all. It’s what you’re comfortable with. It doesn’t really matter to me. I just want you.”

  Tears form in her eyes again and I try to rack my brain quick for moments were Celia was extraordinarily emotional at specific times. I can’t recall any. She’s always been very even-keel about everything. So I’m a little at a loss as to what is causing her tears. Because from everything I can remember, this isn’t as a result of hormones creating chaos in her. “Baby, why are you crying?”

  “I just want you too,” she tells me quietly.

  In an instant, I understand her emotion. I lean in and kiss her softly. It’s just a brush of lips together. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet, and while I’m internally cringing at our proximity during this conversation knowing I haven’t, I need to kiss her. “I’m gonna make things right, I promise. Stay here please.” I step back and rush into the bathroom, needing to shower and clean up myself. In less than five minutes I’m walking out of the small room, a towel slung around my waist and my hair dripping down my face to find Celia sitting on the mattress. “Do you, um, need anything? For, you know.”

  Her cheeks pink again, but she shakes her head no. “I had a feeling it was due soon so I had something just in case,” she tells me and I feel my cheeks heat. Thankfully the heat from the shower covers this up. “I should get home to shower though myself.”

  Nodding, I move to get dressed. Standing at my dresser, I drop my towel and pull on some jeans. After opening the drawer where I keep all my shirts, I realize I’m going to need to do laundry soon, especially since Cecelia has worn and then taken so many. Turning back to face her, I see she’s blushing again. It makes my chest full to know she was more than likely checking me out and since she is ragging, is trying to hide it. There’s really no need. I meant what I said. Hell, I’d fuck her now if she let me.

  “Ready?” I ask slipping on my shoes.

  “Uh, yeah, yeah I am.” Her words are slightly stuttered and my ego inflates. I find her so fucking hot. I’m very pleased to see she feels the same way about me. As we move toward the door, she looks at me. “Just so you know, Ricky has a new boyfriend. And this one is a big time flame. Not one of my favorites.”

  “Tsk, poor fool. He’s probably fucking his way through Chicago to feel better about me turning him down,” I joke.

  “No doubt. You’re one of a kind, Chace Delane.”

  I carry the smile her words give me all the way to the other side of Bridgeport, up the three flights of stairs, and into the apartment. Of course I lose that smile the second she opens the door to find Celia’s roommate, Ricky, blowing his latest conquest. I rush to her bedroom to keep from seeing any more than I was already forced to.

  “Ugh, do that shit in your room, you fucking slut!” Cecelia shouts before slamming her door. S
he’s shaking her head, clearly as scarred by it as I am. “That’s not the new boyfriend. Guess he’s moved on already.”

  “And he honestly wonders why I didn’t want him? Other than the fact I’m not gay?” I shiver at the image still stuck in my head. “Sorry, but I’m really not into someone who jumps from person to person so frequently.”

  It’s a true statement and one that I really should have paid better attention to in regards to Cecelia. She was never easy. I should have listened to my gut.

  “Yeah, um, I’m gonna go shower real quick. Be right back.” She has new clothes in her hand and vanishes behind the door, shutting it quickly. I hear her yell at Ricky again but can’t make it out. Then the door to the bathroom slams. Twenty-minutes later, I’m propped against her pillows when she reappears with a small smile for me. “The slut finally left. I get to disinfect the sofa again.”

  Sitting up, I pull her to stand between my legs. “Can I ask something?”

  “Yeah?” she questions and I can tell my wording makes her nervous.

  “I thought a lot about this last night. After our talk, and then just now, I’m still thinking about it. Especially with what you just said,” I start. I’m nervous but not in the way I expected I would be. What I’m about to ask is big, but I’m not afraid of the question, just the answer. “What do you think about living with me?”

  “What?”

  “I have some money saved. I can afford better than I have I just haven’t made the effort. But last night, watching you sleep on the floor on some shitty mattress made me realize we both deserve better.” I smile at her, hoping to coax one from her. It’s small, but I’ll take it. “I want you with me. Always. And I don’t want it to be in some place where the kitchen and bedroom and living room are wide open to each other. I don’t want the biggest piece of furniture I own to be my kitchen table. I want a real home. And I want it with you.”