Sex Addict (33 page)

* * *
 

REAGAN STARED UP at the sexy man hovering over her, and tried to recall a more perfect moment in her life. For as long as she could remember, this boy—no, this man—had been a figure in her mind. Whether he be a friend of her brother’s, a ghost of her past, or the lover currently teasing between her thighs. No matter what else had happened throughout her life, Evan had always been on her mind, in some way or another.

With her hands trapped by her head, and the wide tip of his erection grazing her clit, Reagan’s breath was coming in soft pants. Then Evan lowered his head and flicked his tongue over the tip of her nipple, and her eyes fluttered closed.
 

Oh God. That feels so fucking good.

He then scraped his teeth over the tip before sucking it between his lips. Her hips snapped up in response, and her arms strained against his grip. “Evan…” she cried out, hoping to get him to move into action.

“You are so fucking beautiful. Every inch of you is—”

“Yours,” she moaned. “Take me.”

He let go of one of her wrists and swept a strand of hair from her face.
 

“I want to be able to see your face when I’m inside you.”

His hand went back to holding her down, and then she felt the head of his cock slowly push inside her. Inch by delicious inch, he slid deeper until he was filling her completely. He stopped then, and the look he aimed down at her was almost heartbreaking. It was full of shock and awe, as if he’d never before felt all that he was feeling, and when Reagan lifted her head from the mattress to softly kiss his lips, she said, “I’ve never wanted you more than I do right now.”

Her words seemed to spark him into action, and he withdrew from her, only to thrust back inside again.
 

The movement was slow at first, but as she bowed up off the bed to meet each of his downward slides, Evan picked up the pace. His chest grazed her sensitive nipples as he rolled his hips over hers, tunneling into her tight, throbbing pussy. His pelvic bone rubbed over her mound, and she couldn’t help but press harder against it, trying to reach that elusive release.

“Let go of my hands,” she begged, and, surprisingly, he freed them. She brought them down to cup his ass, and then she really started to use his body for her own pleasure. As his cock slid in and out of her, she ground her clit against him, knowing with a couple more thrusts in just the right spot and—

“Oh, fuck—right there. Yes,
yes
…don’t stop.”

Evan’s fingers gripped her hair as his hips pistoned, his cock shoving deeper and harder with her cries. Their climaxes were so close, chasing one another as a bead of sweat gathered at his temple, and when their eyes locked together and she exploded around his thick shaft, Evan threw his head back, the veins in his neck straining against the skin as he shouted her name in total satisfaction.

As they came down from the high, he fell to his elbows on top of her, the rocking of their hips slowing to a stop. Evan rested his forehead against hers, and when he opened his mouth again to speak, her heart stuttered and stopped.

“More than enough,” he said on a breath of air. “It’s so much fucking more.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EVAN SWIPED HIS MetroCard and pushed through the turnstile, navigating through the throng of passengers hurrying through the underground maze. His body was exhausted from the weekend, but his mind was running a mile a minute. And at the forefront of his thoughts was Reagan.

He felt the loss of her acutely, though he’d dropped her off at her apartment only a half-hour ago with promises to return after he took care of a little personal matter.
 

Though it wasn’t spoken aloud, the wall between them had crumbled, the bond between them solidifying into something…more. He felt it, felt it in his gut, knew it in his heart. He was fucking done for.

Rubbing his forehead, he yawned and stepped forward as the C train slowed to a stop, and then took a spot inside standing against the opposite doors.
 

Reagan fucking Spencer. The bombshell who’d taken over his brain these past few months, the one he’d done everything, and he did mean
everything
, to get a fucking release from. The fiery, independent woman who didn’t do relationships or second dates or weekends away with a member of the opposite sex. And she was crazy about him. Wanted to hold his hand while he drove the nine hours back to Manhattan. Wanted him in her bed tonight. Was willing to try with him even knowing every fucking one of his faults.
 

He wasn’t about to complain, but he did wonder if maybe she’d lost her damn mind.
 

The thought had him grinning, and as he looked up, he caught his reflection in the window. It was such a marked difference from the last time he remembered seeing what he’d become through the grimy glass of a subway car. Was he really the man staring back at him? The one who smiled, the one with a great job, money in the bank, and an incredible woman who wanted to be by his side? Fuck, but he wanted to be. He hoped he was. The broken man looking for a quick alley fuck was someone he didn’t recognize in that reflection, but it scared him that he was still inside somewhere, lurking deep down, ready to strike and take over at a moment’s notice.
 

Fuck off. One day at a time. I’m taking it one fucking day at a time.
 

But there was something else on his mind. Or some
one
else, rather. There were questions he couldn’t get out of his head, and only one person could answer them.

When he reached his stop, he exited the train and took the stairs leading above ground two at a time. He’d never been to this destination specifically, but he was familiar enough with the area. This part of Brooklyn felt like suburbia compared to the rush of his neighborhood. It was quiet here, and the occupants of the brownstones were occupied by the age group that loved to tend to the small gardens they kept in the boxed backyards, and the fruits of their green thumbs lined the stoops.
 

He pulled out the paper Reagan had written the address on, and double-checked the house number before walking up the stairs to number fourteen thirty-seven. Taking a deep breath, he knocked twice, and then waited, an unexpected rush of nerves shooting through his stomach.
 

And as the door opened, he came face to face with the man who knew far more about him than he’d ever expected.
 

Bill gave him a warm smile when he opened his front door. “I thought I might be hearing from you.”

“I have questions.”

“Then you might wanna come inside,” Bill said, holding the door open wide. “I’ve got answers.”

* * *

REAGAN STOOD AT the bottom of the wide stairs that led up to the most beautifully restored brownstone on the street, and looked back at the Hudson River. She’d been here before. Well, not here exactly, but she’d stood on the opposite side of the street and watched Evan vacate this building once before.

It was gorgeous and slightly intimidating in the way it towered up toward the sky. Tangled vines of ivy trailed up the staircase railing, and as she clutched the strap of her handbag and took a fortifying breath, Reagan reminded herself that she was there for a good reason. She wasn’t being nosy, nor was she being invasive, in her opinion. She was there to make sure that the man who she’d fallen in love with was not going to break her heart.

But how realistic is that? Can I really expect Evan’s therapist to talk to me? And if so, will he tell me what I want to hear?
These were the thoughts that’d been running through her head on the way back from North Carolina.
 

Her weekend away with Evan had been enlightening.
Enlightening and life changing.
She’d gone from a woman who was hellbent on taking things slow and getting their relationship back to a “friendlier” place, to one who had fallen head over heels.
 

Evan James was in her soul. She’d tried in vain to push him aside, to forget about him and how he made her feel. But after eighteen hours trapped in a car with the man, and the hours they’d spent rolling around in the hotel bed together, it was no use. He was forever ingrained there. Every part of him tugged at her heart: the man anguished over his lost childhood, the dark, desperate side of him he tried to squash down, and the charming professional he was—it all called to something in her. Something forbidden that made her feel just as needy as he was whenever they touched.
 

She loved this man. As broken, damaged, and fucked up as he may be. She loved him. Which is why she was here.

Making her way up the stairs, she swallowed back the lump of fear she could feel in her throat and rang the doorbell. She turned away from the large double door, and stared back across at the spot on the street where Evan had tricked her into going speed-dating with him. That was the night she’d seen beneath the darkness for the first time. He’d been fun, carefree, and even managed to get the upper hand on her, which rarely happened. His boyish charm had resurfaced that night, and she’d been powerless against it.

The sound of a door handle being turned had her spinning back to see a man in his early fifties standing in the open doorway. He was wearing casual, light-colored slacks and a thin black knit sweater, and his dark hair was peppered with flecks of grey. He smiled at her in greeting, and the warmth of it made Reagan automatically return the gesture.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Reagan regretted showing up there.
 

“Um…you know what, I think I have the wrong house,” she rushed out, and headed back down the steps.

“Wait…miss, just one second.”

She slowly turned back to face the man at the top of the stairs, feeling like an idiot.

“Do I know you?” he asked.
 

“No. No, you don’t know me.”

“May I ask your name?”

Reagan hesitated, wondering how much he knew. Had Evan mentioned her? She was almost positive he had.
Yeah, this was a stupid, stupid decision.
 

The man’s forehead creased, and he asked, “Are you all right?”

Oh fuck it.
 

“Yes, I’m sorry.” She took a tentative step back onto the stoop. “I’m Reagan Spencer, and I’m not really sure what I’m doing here.”

If the man was aware of who she was, his face didn’t betray that knowledge. “Sure you do. Why don’t you come inside? I’ve made a hot pot of tea.”
 

“You mean you don’t serve alcohol?”
 

“You know,” he said, “I was just asked that same question recently.” As Reagan reached the top of the staircase, he held out his hand. “Michael Glover.”

She gave him a firm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And it’s very nice to meet you, Reagan. Come on in.” He held the door open for her to pass through and then led her to a tidy kitchen, more long than it was wide, and motioned for her to sit down at a circular glass table.

“Cream and sugar okay?” he said when he brought out an ornate teapot and matching cups.
 

“Yes, thank you. Cute set you have there.”

“They’re my wife’s,” he said, pouring some of the steaming liquid into Reagan’s cup. “I stole her away from England, but she wouldn’t leave without her fine china. No doubt she’ll have another set when she gets back from seeing her family this week.” He set down the pot and took the seat across from Reagan. “So, Ms. Spencer. What brings you by?”

Reagan stirred the sugar in her mug until it dissolved, and then looked up. “You know who I am.”

Not a question. A statement.

Again, Dr. Glover’s face gave nothing away. “Why would you assume that?”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

He took a long sip of his tea, and when he put it down, he looked at her expectantly.
 

“Of course not,” she said. “Well, your client, Evan James, is a…close, personal friend of mine.”

He didn’t blink.

“And I was wondering. Hoping, really, that you could…”
Could what, exactly? What the hell do I expect him to tell me?
She rubbed her forehead and blew out a breath. “I need you to tell me I’m not making a massive fuck-up of my life by falling for your client.”

* * *

EVAN WANDERED INSIDE past Bill and made his way down the narrow hall. Bill shut the door behind him and followed as Evan took in the cozy surroundings of a well-lived-in home. As he stopped in the living room and spotted the bar off to the side, he immediately felt comfortable.
 

This was Bill. From the well-worn recliner, to the fireplace with photos of friends and…
Wait a minute.
Evan walked over to the mantel and picked up a framed image. The woman staring back at him was like a ghost from his past. She certainly wasn’t the same woman he’d seen just this weekend, but as he turned to face his boss, Bill gave him a smile that was filled with as much joy as sadness.

“Your mother was an extremely beautiful lady.”

Evan lowered his eyes back to the image to see a young Bill, dressed smartly in a suit and tie with his mother on tiptoe kissing his cheek. Her hair was free and flowing behind her, as though the wind had caught it in its fingers, and behind them was the spectacular view from the top of the Empire State Building. The photo could’ve been taken professionally, it was so well captured, but Evan somehow knew—

“Did my father take this?”

Bill ambled around the recliner and took a seat before replying, “Yes, he did. We were close back then. Your parents and me.”

Evan’s eyebrow winged up as he cocked his head to the side. “How close? I mean, we are talking the seventies here—there wasn’t any—”

“No, no.” Bill chuckled. “Not like that. At least not with your father.”

The silence that stretched between them was tense, and Evan ran his finger down the side of the frame as he thought about his next question. Did he really want to get into this? What if he learned something he didn’t want to? Would that make him spiral back to old habits?