Addict: to abandon (oneself) to something compulsively or obsessively.
Here's the thing. I'm a whore. And not in the "my-girlfriends-call-me-a-whore" kind of way. I'm an actual whore. Well, I don't have sex for money, if that's what you're thinking. So, I suppose that means I'm not an actual whore. I guess that makes me a slut. Or "loose as a goose," as my Grandma Swan used to say.
But really…I'm just arguing minor points about a very major thing.
My name is Bella Swan and I'm addicted to sex.
Specifically, I'm addicted to sex with Edward Masen.
And it has to stop.
He just walked by my office with his sex hair and sex fingers and sex smirk. Oh, yes…he definitely has a sex smirk. I know you know what I'm talking about. Oh…and I forgot about his sex swagger because I'm too busy pretending to be important. Or remotely productive.
What was I saying?
Sex with Edward Masen.
God, everything about him oozes sex. And it oozes good sex. You know…the kind of sex that makes your toes curl and your muscles clench. All your muscles. Even the ones on the inside that no one has been able to make clench before. No one. Not even the little rubber, spinning, battery operated someone you keep in your nightstand. Or (if you're like me) hidden under your mattress because you're secretly afraid that someone might find it. Even though you live alone and no one has been in your bedroom in months.
Anyway, as I was saying…he definitely walked by on purpose. And I know where he's going. And he knows I know where he's going. And even more importantly…or sadly…he knows I'm going to follow.
I could just not follow. You know…I could totally sit here at my desk and actually work. And by work, I mean tool around online. And he could stand there all alone, waiting on me until he realizes that I am completely committed to my career and engaged with those who report to me. That would be the smart thing. That would definitely be the right thing. After all, I have always prided myself on being a moral person with unquestioning integrity.
Until that first moment…
I could stay here and remember that moment, since every single second of it is burned into my brain with striking and vivid clarity. I could…but I won't. Not when he's waiting. And especially not when I know he's waiting for me.
So, I rise from my chair, smoothing out the black woven skirt that covers my thighs to just above my knees. And I follow him.
Just like he knew I fucking would.
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