IT'S LIVE!
My name is Abigail Summers, and I’m addicted to sex. Yes,
you read right. I’m a woman that craves… no, needs to have a man take my body on a daily basis. If I don’t
have sex at least once a day, my body shakes from withdrawals, my stomach
cramps with unbearable pain, my sexually hazed mind goes haywire, and I become
extremely irritable and a major bitch. This isn’t a lifestyle I’ve chosen for
myself. It’s a struggle I deal with every single
day.
I don’t do relationships, because what man wants to
be stuck knowing his girl may be out having sex with some random guy if he’s
not available? You may think this is something that I can control, but I say
screw you; you’ve never been in my shoes before.
The cravings may be something I can’t control, but
I’ve learned to embrace them. I’ve tried the sexual addiction support groups.
I’ve tried curbing my appetites. I’ve been shunned, criticized, ridiculed, and
called every nasty name under the sun. Well, I say fuck all you judgmental
assholes. I’ll have sex with who I want, when I want, where I want.
Embarrassment? That’s a thing of the past. This is my life now, and those that
don’t like it can go straight to hell.
But then
he came along and
screwed everything up. Colt
Maverick. For once in my life, I want more,
crave
more from one guy. A guy that’s sweet
and doesn’t match my hard interior. A guy that looks at me like he wants to eat
me alive and claim me as his own. A guy that will most definitely
not
be okay with my addiction. A guy that I want over and over again, not because
my body demands it, but because
I
demand it.
I now have a new addiction. But will he be enough to
satisfy my uncontrollable desires?
“Which
is it, Abby?” I growl, needing to know if I should kick this
guy’s ass for
hurting her, or kick his ass for daring to touch what is
mine.
“Neither.”
She shakes her head, swallows, then looks up at
me. Her eyes carry the same
confusion I’m feeling.
“I didn’t
want him, but he wasn’t hurting or forcing me,
either.”
“Abby,
what—”
“Take
me back to my place,” she blurts out, interrupting me.
For
the first time tonight, I notice the sheen of sweat on her
forehead and the
paleness of her cheeks. She doesn’t look like she feels
well. My ire dies, and
concern takes over. Her eyes once again drop from mine when
she sees my worry.
I bend my knees and force her to look at me when I get in
her face.
“What’s
wrong with you?” I ask.
“Nothing,”
she mumbles. “I just want to get out of here.”
I
don’t believe her, but when I see the pinch of pain on her
face, I decide to
force the issue later, once we’re alone.
“My
place.” I back away and grab her hand. “It’s closer,” I add
when she looks like
she wants to object.
Luckily, she
nods.
The
forgotten guy on the floor has managed to sit up and lean
against the wall,
still holding his nose and stomach. My eyes narrow at him
when he looks up and
spots us. The bastard shrinks back further against the wall
at my look.
Smart
man.
“The
back door,” Abby murmurs and pulls on my hand, leading me to
a back entrance.
After
stepping outside into the dark alleyway, Abby stumbles to a
stop several feet
from the door. I look to see what’s wrong and find her
staring at me. The look
in her eyes is hard to distinguish. I see pain, uncertainty,
and a hint of what
looks like desire. The desire is what confuses me. She’s
obviously hurting, so
how can she be turned on at the same time?
“Blue,”
she says softly, her hand tightening in mine.
“What
is it?” I ask, stepping into her space.
What’s
up with this woman? Something’s off with her, and I need to
find out what it is
before she drives me crazy.
The
hand she was using to hold mine releases its grip and lands
on my lower
stomach. Her other hand trails a path up my chest and snakes
around my neck. I
gaze down at her in bewilderment when she steps closer and
plasters her front
to mine, her tits flattening against my hard
chest.
She
grips the waistband of my jeans. “I need you,” she whispers
harshly.
My
dick jerks, and I want nothing more than to sink my hands
into her plump ass,
lift her up, and sink inside her, but I don’t. I need to get
her home and find
out what’s wrong with her
first.
“Let’s
get you back to my place.”
“No,”
she whimpers. She raises her hands and digs her nails into
my scalp. “I need
you, Blue.
Please.”
Alex Grayson is originally from the south, but has recently
moved to Northern Ohio. Although she misses the warmth of Florida and often
times detest the cold of Ohio, she absolutely loves living in the north. Her
and her husband bought a house on two acres of land and live there with their
daughter, son, one dogs, two cats, eight ducks, and three chickens. She hopes
to eventually get a couple of goats to add to their country way of living.
Besides her family and home, her next best passion is reading. She is often
found with her nose obsessively stuck in a book, much to the frustration of her
husband and daughter. On more than one occasion Alex found herself wanting a
book to go a certain way, but it didn’t. With these thoughts in mind, she
decided to start writing stories according to her own visions. Although this is
a new endeavor for her, she hopes that readers find her concepts on romance
intriguing and captivating. Alex welcomes and encourages feedback, of any kind.
She can be contacted at
alexgraysonauthor@gmail.com.
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Title: Bullies like Me
