Page 88 of Vicious Addictions

With a smile on my face, I don’t fight it any longer and let myself succumb to my slumber.

When the rays of a new dawn filter through the corner of my eyes, I start to awaken. I become even more alert when I realize I’m the only one lying in bed. I sit up, holding the bed sheet to my chest, and see Jude, fully dressed, watching over me at the far corner of the room, right next to the door.

“Did I wake you?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something heavy in it, something that tightens my chest. The serious expression stitched across his face sends a ripple of unease through me.

“No.” I search his eyes. “Are you leaving?”

He nods.

A lump forms in my throat. “Will you come back?”

He exhales slowly as if the world’s weight has settled onto his shoulders again.

I lean in closer, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“Jude… will you come back to me?”

His head lifts, his gaze locking onto mine. The misery is there again, darkening the beautiful hue of his eyes, drowning him in some unspoken torment he refuses to profess.

Then, in a voice rough with a truth he wishes he could deny, he says, “Yes, love. I’ll come back. I don’t see how I can stop myself now.”

Chapter 15

Jude

Twenty-three years old

All it took was one night.

One night of weakness… and I was done for.

How could I ever stay away from Mina again when I knew how sweet she tasted?

How pliant and responsive her body was to my touch?

How her little moans and cries of ecstasy sounded in my ear?

There was no going back after that night.

I had been struggling to keep my distance as it was before Pavlin decided to steal her away from me. How could I ever go back to not being in her bed?

You’ll have to, one day.

I shut my eyes, wanting to expunge the thought out of my head.

“Hey?” she coos, lifting her head off my chest to perch her chin on it to look at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, love,” I lie, brushing her damp hair from hours of lovemaking out of her face.

Every night since I knocked on her bedroom door that one fatal night, I’ve returned.

Every single night for the past six months, I’ve held her in my arms as she’s fallen asleep after I’ve worshipped every inch of her body.

“You’re lying. Something is troubling you. What is it?” she asks, searching my gaze for an answer.

“I was just thinking of home,” I finally reply.

Technically, it’s not a lie. But the omission of what is really worrying me feels like a boulder pressing on my chest.

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