Addicted to Sin Page 2

  Lily dumped me six weeks before our wedding because she was in love with Leo. I couldn’t accept the words coming from her lips, but when she showed me the reason behind her recent weight gain, her words became crystal clear. Not only was she in love with my best friend, she was also having his baby. I knew it wasn’t mine because we hadn’t had sex in over three months. I know, I know, I should have seen the warning signs, but love is blind and all of that crap.

  So things couldn’t get any clearer after that.

  She blamed her infidelity on me, stating she never saw me and I put work first. I did put work first, but only so I could pay for the three-carat diamond on her finger, and the lavish, upscale Manhattan condo she insisted we buy.

  I did all of this for her. And she thanks me by screwing my best friend and bearing his spawn.

  So after she left me, I went a little wild.

  But this lifestyle, it’s no longer just a phase—it’s who I am. I’ve become addicted to senseless, shameless sexual acts with random women, completely knowing that, on some level, I’m hoping to replace the face of the one woman who took an axe to my heart and hacked into it, leaving behind a bloodied, broken mess of the man I once was.

  But these hook-ups, they’re slowly losing their appeal, and I’m afraid that one day, I’ll wake up and no longer recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.

  So, there you have it, that’s my life in a nutshell. I eat, sleep, work and fuck because that’s what I have to do to survive. It’s a sad, miserable existence, but it’s better than being a lovesick puppy, pining after a woman who doesn’t give a damn.

  Snapping back into the now, my shields slip into place and I try my best to appear nonchalant. “Big deal. I’m over it. I’m over her.”

  Finch frowns, while Hunter disputes my claim. “No, man, you’re not. If you were, then you’d have no problem with me telling you that Leo the Ass and Lily the Whore are getting married next month.”

  “Jesus, Hunter!” Finch scolds, shaking his head.

  “What? If he’s over it, me telling him this shouldn’t be a problem,” Hunter states with a shrug.

  Hunter’s tactlessness doesn’t bother me in the slightest. His statement, however, does.

  “She’s marrying that asshole?” I spit out, disgusted, but more so, I’m hurt.

  What does he have that I didn’t? I swallow down my defeat and repulsion, and need to get the hell outta Dodge before I fucking lose it.

  “Dixon,” Finch says with nothing but pity in his tone, but I don’t want his sympathy.

  Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand after finishing my lukewarm, stolen beer, I stand, hoping my friends understand why I need a minute alone.

  “I’m going out for a cigarette.” I pat down my jacket pockets to find my smokes.

  Thankfully, the boys let it go and don’t make a fuss when I push through the massive crowd. As I step outside onto the pavement, I light a Marlboro and take a much-needed drag as I lean back against the brick wall.

  I would be a complete liar if I said I never thought of Lily, because I think about her more often than I care to admit. I gave up long ago on the dream of reconciliation, but deep down, I wished her relationship with Leo had failed.

  My life is a mess, and the only person I could talk to about this is dead.

  My mom passed away six months ago from breast cancer, and the loss destroyed my father. He had a major mental breakdown and now resides at Sunnyfields Hospital. Ironic, isn’t it? Dixon Mathews, New York’s finest shrink, can’t even help his own father.

  Automatically taking a drag of my cigarette, I’m lost in the past—a place I’d rather not be. So when I hear the animated voices of a couple to my left, I welcome the distraction.

  Turning to see what the commotion is all about, I see a short brunette being manhandled by a meaty jock, who is jerking her a little too roughly by her upper arms. She’s fucking tiny and his huge paws are going to snap her into two.

  “Let me go,” she scowls, attempting to pull out of his grip.

  I’ll give her points for trying, as she looks like she’s putting up a pretty good fight. But this asshole has about a hundred pounds on her.

  Flicking my smoke into the gutter, I decide to intervene, as it’s pretty obvious she’s trying to get away. Her anxious green eyes flick in my direction when I’m feet away, and she silently pleads with me to help her.

  “How about you let her go,” I say firmly, and the wildebeest turns my way with a cocky grin.

  “How about you mind your own business, old man,” he replies with a deep, southern accent.

  Old man?

  Fuck this little pubescent jerkoff.

  “How about you mind your manners? Let the lady go.”

  “Or what?” he chides, but thankfully he loosens his grip.

  “Or I’ll call the police, because from where I stand, those marks on her arms—” I point to her biceps as he releases them “—are a clear indication that you’re a low-life douchebag who likes to beat up on women to make yourself feel like a man. What’s wrong?” I mock. “Trying to act all tough ’cause you want to make up for what you’re lacking?” I hold up my pinkie.

  The girl giggles, but quickly stifles her outburst with her hand when douchebag turns and glares at her.

  “Ah, c’mon, there are pills you can take for your anger, and also, for your little problem,” I say in a sarcastic whisper as I point to his crotch.

  His face blazes a bright red and I can’t help but laugh, because questioning a dude’s manhood always has the desired effect. I can see him mentally sizing me up, and he knows there is no way he can take me on. This guy is big, but he’s jacked up on too many steroids, and his ridiculous, air-inflated muscles wouldn’t pack a punch.

  “So how about you do the world a favor and fuck off? Go work off that anger with some tweezers and a photograph of your mom.”

  This time, the girl bursts out into fits of laughter, and the sound is utterly magical.

  “Fuck you,” douchebag snarls. He leaves in a huff when he realizes this is a fight he’s bound to lose.

  We both watch as he rounds the corner, and when I’m certain he’s not coming back, I turn to look at the woman in front of me.

  During my tirade, I failed to notice that she is a total fox. She’s young, I’m guessing twenty-three, but holy shit, she’s beautiful. Large green eyes complement a head of long, brown hair which sits straightened just past her shoulders. Her full lips are the prettiest pink I have ever seen, and when her mouth tips up into a timid smile, I know I’m staring like a creepy old man.

  Quickly composing myself, I ask, “Are you okay?” and make a point of looking at her arms.

  She wraps her small fingers around her left bicep, as if attempting to hide the red finger marks. “I’m…fi-fine,” she stutters unconvincingly, but quickly recovers. “I’m fine. Thanks for the save.”

  “No problem.” I’m mesmerized by the way her straight teeth tug at her lower lip, because in no way is she doing this on purpose.

  She’s not openly flirting with me, or trying to get into my pants, and honestly, it’s like a breath of fresh air. She’s simply a hot, young, innocent girl with no ulterior motives, and no expectations to where our strange, yet electrifying encounter might lead.

  I’ve forgotten what innocence looks like—how fucking sad is that?

  “I’m Madison,” she says, extending her hand, and my huge palm dwarfs her tiny one as we shake.

  “Dixon,” I reply with a genuine smile.

  “So, do you make it a habit of rescuing damsels in distress?”

  “What can I say, it’s a hobby of mine,” I reply with a casual shrug, and Madison laughs.

  “Well, Dixon, thank you again for coming to my rescue.” I nod, letting her hand go as I realize I’m still creepily shaking it.

  “Anytime. Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask as I don’t fail to see a small shiver pass through her body.

 
“Honestly, I’m okay. His bark is worse than his bite.”

  I notice she doesn’t elaborate on who her assailant is. I want to say more, but for once, me, the fancy, sweet-talking shrink, is speechless. And the reason for that is because I have a feeling Madison would see through my bullshit and call me out for the fake I am.

  “Maddy? Are you out here?” asks a concerned voice from behind us.

  We both turn, and I suddenly have the urge to grab my nuts to protect them when I see a flaming redhead storm our way. She glares at me before focusing on Madison.

  “Are you okay?”

  Madison nods.

  “I’m fine,” she replies, giving me a small smile as she extends her hand my way. “This is Dixon.”

  Her friend looks at me, making it no secret she’s sizing me up. “Where did nimrod go?” she asks, totally ignoring me, and I smirk, as I like this girl’s spunk.

  Madison brushes a tendril of hair behind her ear and frowns. “Oh, he left. Dixon saved the day,” she reveals, giving me a shy smile.

  Her friend looks at me once again and this time it doesn’t appear she wants to skin me alive. “Well, in that case, it’s nice to meet you, Dixon,” and she gives me a small wave.

  “Likewise,” I reply. “And it was nothing. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  Or wrong time, as the closer I look at Madison, the more intrigued I become. What is the matter with me?

  “Well, regardless, thanks for looking out for my friend.”

  I give her a small, polite nod, as her protectiveness over Madison reminds me of my friendship with Hunter and Finch. Madison is, without a doubt, someone worth protecting. I mean, look at her.

  I can’t stop my eyes from darting over to her, and I’m surprised to see her returning my gaze. Her friend must also sense some weird stare-off going on between us, because she clears her throat, an octave higher than needed.

  “Well, we better go back inside. Our friends are probably waiting for us,” she explains, breaking my trance-like stupor.

  Dixon, don’t be a chump, talk to her. But what do I say? I haven’t properly spoken to a girl in so long; especially not to a girl I actually wanted to talk to. I’ve forgotten how to communicate with the opposite sex—and “faster” or “fuck me harder” doesn’t count. So like a wimp, I stand mute and smile.

  “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you,” Madison says, biting her lip, lingering.

  “You too. Stay safe.”

  I restrain from groaning, as who the hell says “stay safe” other than your parents? I open my mouth, ready to add in a quirky response, but Madison is being dragged toward the entrance by her friend.

  She suddenly turns over her shoulder and yells, “I work at The Pony Bar. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, come visit.”

  Before I have time to reply, she’s gone.

  What the hell was that? Madison has left me standing on the pavement, now questioning my manhood.

  Like a chicken shit, I let the first girl in forever who I actually liked, leave. I need to go back in there and talk to her. I need her to see what a great guy I can be. But that’s the problem; I’m not a great guy. This week, I’ve fucked four different women, and I can’t even remember most of their names. Or faces. They all blur into one disgusting regret, one I wish I could erase but can’t.

  Girls like Madison are too good for the likes of me, and I’m doing her a favor by keeping away. However, tell that to my attentive dick, who became interested in Madison the moment she opened her mouth. Yes, she’s fucking gorgeous, but the fact I didn’t see her as a conquest is what I find myself most attracted to. I haven’t felt that way since…Lily.

  All thoughts of Lily come flooding back, and I suddenly remember why I was out here in the first place.

  “Hey, handsome,” purrs a voice, snapping me back into the here and now.

  Raising my eyes, I see the blonde bartender from earlier addressing me, inches from where I stand.

  “Hey.” I quickly recover when I see her waiting for me to respond.

  “I saw you inside.” She motions with her head toward the bar while checking me out.

  I know I’m not ugly, and if I were a chick, I’d probably want to fuck me, too. I’ve always been tall, but I stopped growing when I shot up to 6’3”. My dark brown hair is naturally messy, always styled into a “fohawk” as one girl I was screwing called it, and my blue eyes complement my trademark dark stubble; most days, I’m just too lazy to shave.

  “Oh, yeah?”I ask, unbelieving at how easy this is.

  “Yeah,” she confirms with a slow nod, biting her glossy bottom lip. “Can I bum a smoke?”

  “Sure.” I search through my pockets and offer her one.

  As she places the Marlboro between her lips, she waits for me to offer her a light. I try not to recoil when she leers forward, pursing her lips like a fish while I light it. My horny libido tells my stupid brain that this blonde bimbo is exactly what I need to forget all about my encounter with the brown-haired beauty. They are exact opposites, and that’s what I need. This is what I do best.

  “So, sweetheart. How long a break you got?”

  She bats her fake eyelashes and smirks. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Bending down to meet her short frame, I whisper, “I’ll make it the best fifteen minutes of your life.”

  And that’s all the miles I have to put in as she flicks her cigarette to the ground with a sly grin. Reaching for the scruff of my shirt collar, she leads me around the corner and I make good on my promise.

  It may be the best fifteen minutes of her life, but it’s the worst fifteen minutes of mine.

  3

  Angel of Sin

  DIXON

  Nobody likes Mondays—especially when you’ve had a shitty weekend. After jacking off in the shower—twice—you’d think my mood would have improved.

  My weekend was strange. After boning the blonde on Friday night, I went home alone, which is no surprise, but oddly enough I was kind of disappointed. My number one cardinal rule is never, ever bring anyone home. My home is my sanctuary, it’s the one place where I can truly be myself, and I refuse to pollute that purity with my whoring ways. Also, I still see my home as ours. Lily is still ingrained into every crevice, and I can’t bring myself to taint the happy memories we once shared there.

  But Friday night, I found myself wondering what it would be like to actually bring home a chick and fuck her in my bed, as opposed to screwing her up against a brick wall.

  I’m a psychiatrist, so I know how the human mind works—most of the time. My need for comfort was triggered by the lovely Madison. Her innocence sung to me, and I haven’t felt that way for a long while. As brief as our encounter was, there was something there. Too bad I was too gutless to find out what that something was.

  I felt fucking disgusting after consorting with the blonde, so for the rest of the weekend, I kept my nose clean and out of random chicks’ crotches. It was fairly boring on all accounts, but I feel somewhat unpolluted after my sexual abstinence for two whole days. That’s a long time for someone who uses sex as his shield.

  “Dr. Mathews, your twelve-thirty appointment is here,” Ms. Vale says through the intercom on my phone.

  Her singsong voice jars me out of my rut, and I clear my voice before replying, “Send her in.”

  Pulling up my new patient information sheet on my laptop, I begin entering Ms. Juliet Harte’s details into my computer.

  Age: 26

  Gender: Female

  Address: 18 Union Square West, New York

  Problem: Sex Addiction

  Oh boy.

  “Dr. Mathews?” asks a soft, velvety voice, which has my dick standing in direct salute.

  Raising my eyes from the screen, I see that Ms. Juliet Harte is complete perfection wrapped in pure sin.

  Her long blonde hair is wrapped into a twist, and strands fall around her face, drawing attention to her “come fuck me” blue eyes. The sexiest lips
I have ever seen are coated in a clear gloss, and images of what those lips could do to me have me subtly rearranging myself in my seat.

  My newfound celibacy has just mentally motorboated Juliet’s perfect breasts. However, putting my game face on, I give her a small smile and gesture to the leather chair in front of my desk. “Please take a seat.”

  She nods and saunters over, making sure to straighten out her cream tunic dress before taking a graceful seat.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Harte,” I say with a nod, getting the formalities out of the way.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Mathews,” she replies, her eyes focusing intently on me.

  I see no fear or apprehension behind her poised gaze, and her self-confidence is an absolute turn-on. But I have a job to do.

  “So today, we’ll mainly be discussing your history. Think of this as ‘a getting to know you’ session. In order to properly evaluate you, I need you to trust me. In no way will you be judged or condemned for your thoughts. No matter how perverse or wrong your thoughts may be, I need you to be totally honest with me. Do you think you can do that?” I ask with a smile.

  Juliet nods. “Yes, I want to get better. I’ll do anything it takes.”

  “Good,” I commend. “How about we take a seat on the sofa where we’ll both be more comfortable.”

  Juliet’s mouth tips up into a secretive smile, but I ignore it as I reach for my notepad and make my way to the leather recliner. My eyes flick to the clock on my mantel, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get through an hour session with this vixen, talking about her sex addiction, without ripping her clothes off.

  Clearing my throat, I try not to stare as she takes a seat on the black leather sofa. As she slowly crosses her long legs, images of her black skyscraper heels digging into my ass while I fuck her up against my office wall assault my brain, and I barely suppress my moan at the erotic vision.

  “So, what brings you here today, Ms. Harte?”