Dr. Ian West

With addiction, the mind picks up where it left off, like no time has passed since an alcoholic took that last drink, or an addict their last hit. The mind continues on a timeline, regardless of the amount of time sober between.

This is due to tolerance. Our tolerance continues to increase for a substance even when we’re no longer feeding the craving. It’s fascinating. At least it is to me, to think the mind never forgets; our habits, our desires—that are so deeply cemented in our psyche.

I’m thinking of this now as I sit on Porter’s sofa, as I stare at her draped across the lounge directly in front of me, because my whole entire body craves her.

I pick up with Porter much in the same way, my body responding to her pheromones, to her laugh, her touch, yearning her, as if that night in the bar we had experienced that almost kiss.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“Addiction,” I blurt.

Her throaty laugh rolls over my skin, inviting. “Your mind never stops.” She slides off the lounge and slinks toward the sofa, her walk slow, deliberate, a seduction. Her knees slide between mine. Tangible friction ignites my flesh. “Let me take your mind off…everything.”

She reaches behind her back and begins to unzip her dress, the erotic sound driving my senses wild. I’ve seen Porter be sexy before. Every Halloween—Mel’s favorite, remember?—Porter upped her game on the slutty costume contest.

I’ve witnessed her flirt with men. Watched her work her charm in the courtroom. I’ve seen this all just one place removed, never the target of her wiles.

And I admit, had she set her sights on me that first night…and Melanie never walked through that door…I’d have been just as helpless to resist her as I am now.

Her hand stops mid-zip, the top of her dress slouched low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. I tear my gaze away from the tantalizing sight. “What’s wrong?”

“Shit. I’m really nervous.” Her laugh is forced, her voice wobbling with the effort.

A hollow twinge darts through my chest. I sit forward and clasp her hips, rest my forehead to the softness of her belly. The sigh that slithers free feels torn from my lungs. “It’s okay. We can take it slow.”

“I think three years is slow enough,” she says. I feel her tremble, and I look up. “She won, you know. I did fight for you, that night after we left The Bar.”

Confusion knits my brows together. “What?”

She exhales heavily. “I’m not a saint, West. And neither was Mel, God love her pure soul.” She zips up the dress and crosses her arms. “After we left the bar, much drunker than we needed to be, it started out as a joke. Maybe we could share you. Then Mel made a comment like, “may the best woman win”. Then we got into it. Saying things in our drunken state that we both regretted, that nearly cost us our future friendship. When I sobered up, I realized how stupid I’d been.” She shakes her head. “There was never any contest. There was no denying your feelings for her. You chose her the moment you laid eyes on her, and I had to make a choice.”

I swallow. She chose to hide her feelings for me. For Mel. “You cared about her more.”

“Well, yeah.” She smiles, and it’s beautiful. “I mean, not that you weren’t a great catch back then, enough to make two drunken girls lose their mind for a night.” She winks. “But you weren’t the only man in DC. And Mel was already becoming someone special to me. It’s damn hard to find a good friend.”

I take her hands and slide them down her hips, then I ease off the sofa. I stand so close to her I can inhale her lavender. Feel the press of her body heat against my suit. I hook a finger beneath her chin and tip her head back. “You are a saint. And you have enough space in your saint heart for both of us.”

Her swallow pulses against my finger. “So do you.”

I kiss her, my lips tentative at first, waiting for her to match me. Then I deepen the kiss, parting her lips against mine. Breathing her in. It’s a slow burn kiss. The kind that kindles a flame, then the embers smolder into an inferno.

I caress her curves, hands mapping her body over the velvet dress, then they amble their way to her back, where I find that infuriating zipper. I lower it, my fingertips tracing her skin as I drag the dress down along her body, and she allows it to slip to the floor.

This should feel off, or strange at first. Making out with Porter. But my body responds to her touch, her taste, as if it’s unfurling a recorded memory. Maybe from another life, or alternate universe. Where Porter and I never had any barriers between us.

Her hands snake up to my shoulders and she pushes me down on the couch. It’s the most erotic sight watching her spread her legs to straddle me. Then the feel of her on my lap…

I ease out a hiss. “Be gentle,” I warn. “It’s been a minute.” Way longer…

Her hair creates a veil around us, the dim light of candles setting her amber highlights aglow, ethereal. A sinful angel sent to wreck me.

“West, that’s the very reason to be anything but gentle.” She clasps the front of my pants and works the button with maddening leisure.

Not to sound crass, but I’ve been rock-hard since she asked me to her apartment. I’m one pulsating vein at this point, and every time her fingers skim my boxers, my dick jumps, excited for attention.

Then she circles me fully, the feel of her soft hand stroking me sends me careening over the edge. Control lost.

I bury my hand in her hair and bring her mouth to mine. A crash of senses, overwhelming. My throttle just snapped. I have her bra off with a deftness I’m impressed I still obtain. I kiss a heated trail down her neck, sucking at her silky skin, until my mouth skims her nipple. I swirl my tongue around one, then the other, desperate to give each equal attention.

Her heavy breaths ease beneath my skin, igniting my flesh. Her fingers play at the back of my neck. Christ, I’m on fire. I palm her ass and haul her up against my chest before I lay her flat against the sofa. I tear my suit jacket off and toss it.

Porter’s breathless laugh infuses me as she works my tie loose. “Come here,” she commands, and oh, I obey.

I cover her body with mine, falling into her. Consumed. She snaps the buttons of my dress shirt open, tugging it off my shoulders, both of us in a heated frenzy to remove every barrier. As her silk-soft skin caresses mine, our bodies molding into one, a sense of seamless completeness washes through me.

Her nails drag over my back, her teeth nibble at my earlobe, eliciting a desperate need to ravish every inch of her. My fingers seek the apex between her thighs, and I stroke her soft panties, driving myself mad at the wet, smooth feel of her.

“Christ,” I breathe, as I come undone. I want her so badly…just put me out of my misery.

She bucks against my hand, undulating her hips to place me where she wants, and it drives me fucking crazy. “I want you inside me. Now, West.”

For once, I don’t think. I’m a man of action. All the fear and trepidation falls away as I slip her panties down and, as I slide my hand beneath her hips, lift her up to meet me. A hard shiver racks my muscles as I tense at the feel of her.

She does this thing with her hips that pushes me deeper, and I curse. “Fuck. Are you trying to kill me?”

Her hands go to my hair, fingers splaying and gripping, as she rolls her hips. “I’ve stored up a lot of fantasies… This might take all night.”

Jesus. I bury my face in her neck and thrust inside her, deeper. Harder. My dick already throbbing with the pressure to release.

“You feel too good…” Dammit. I have no control. I cup her shoulders as she arches against me, her perfect fucking tits sensually rubbing my chest with every hungry thrust.

We become a wrapped pretzel on the couch, her legs locking mine, and I can’t get enough. I rock into her until I’m a fucking machine, then I have to kiss her just to ease the building desire to fuck her right into the couch.

She kisses me back, our tongues probing and just as desperate to take as our bodies. Breaths labored, she turns her head to whisper against my ear. “Don’t hold back.” Her words are a tease against my skin, daring me.

Madness; that’s what it feels like. When raw, unadulterated desire overtakes your senses, and you become a slave to it. I have no will of my own. I take her body, franticly craving every throaty moan, every cry of pleasure, until I feel her clench—so fucking tight, I shatter—and she breaks around me.

I collapse, loving the feel of her heavy breaths that fan my face. Her chest heaves in sync with mine, the roar of my heart fading as I come down, sated.

She brushes her fingers through my hair, and I kiss her neck. “We can do that another hundred times…then you might be close to making it up to me.”

A laugh barrels free. “So your revenge is death by sex.” But I kiss her, slow and tender. And I will spend my every waking moment making the last three years up to her.