I reached out and took his hand in mine. A calming feeling washed over me as our fingers entwined and his thumb rubbed the back of my hand. The elevator doors closed in front of us, and I curled my body into his, just needing to be held by him.
It came fleetingly—the urge to touch him, to have him touch me, to have that connection. It was always strong and irresistible, and as he slid his hands down to my ass and kissed my neck, I wqs reminded that we’re still very much governed by our addictions.
He still craved my body, and in turn, I still craved his heart.
Our love just had a way of pushing it to the side, smothering it a little. I think more of how I love him than how I’m addicted to him… And maybe that’s the key.
Maybe that’s how we’ll make it work.
Perhaps our love and our addictions are intertwining into an intricate knot