Someone to Love
Authors: Addison Moore
Tags: #romance, #young adult romance, #adult romance, #contemporary adult, #new adult, #contemporary adult romance, #college age romance
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Copyright 2012 by Addison Moore
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Cover by Addison Moore Publishing
Editors: Amy Eye, Sarah Joy Oaklief
This novel is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely
coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the
author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It
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Books by Addison Moore
Ethereal
(Celestra Series Book 1)
Tremble
(Celestra Series Book 2)
Burn
(Celestra Series Book 3)
Wicked
(Celestra Series Book 4)
Vex
(Celestra Series Book 5)
Expel
(Celestra Series Book 6)
Toxic Part One
(Celestra Series Book 7)
Toxic Part Two
(Celestra Series Book 7.5)
Ephemeral
(The Countenance 1)
Someone to Love
To my husband
who taught me all the best parts about love.
10 — A Dozen Long-Stemmed Heartaches
19 — Heart of Glass, Heart of Stone
It was that season in my life, the coming of
age of the woman inside me who longed to know the secrets of the
universe—those potent with lust and desire—the very thing that
harnessed a sexual frenzy and drove humanity along on its erotic
trembling wings.
I’ve always thought of love as a very sharp
knife that held the promise of exquisite pain, never one that
satisfied, never a theory you could nestle in, warm and safe,
forever. Love was dangerous terrain. It was where you met your
enemy and gutted them before you sacked their belongings, hitting
the road long before the ink dried on the divorce papers—that’s
what my mother taught me.
I was my own universe. I guarded my heart,
froze and buried it in the tundra of my own misgivings. But now
that I was clear across country at Garrison University, desire and
passion reared their ugly heads. My body ached to know things, and
those kinds of lessons could only come from a heated body pressed
against mine.
Sex manifested itself in all things. It was
all around me—the hibiscus with its sticky pistil, its stamen
hungry to release; the perfect round bottom of the peach, the fig
tree heavy with its sacks of seeded fruit—the stray cat locked in
heat as she begs for a companion. It was everywhere, viral and
prolific. All of nature was making love, encouraging humanity with
its undeniable whispers. Every day it resonated like an erotic
echo. I was envious, greedy to experience the gnashing of hips, the
interlacing of hands, knees tucked against mine. I wanted to glean
all of the sensual knowledge firsthand.
I held onto virginity and reason long
enough—staved off the enemy far too long. Every intimate part of me
is quivering, cheering on my newfound carnal revolution, and now
here I am, standing in front of the god of Garrison in the exact
amount of clothing I was born in.
“Down,” he instructs.
I get on my knees, and he pulls my head back.
Instinctively I know this is going to hurt, and I want it to. I
want to feel everything Cruise has to offer—all that he’s willing
to thrust my way.
He steps into me and unbuttons his jeans. He
flicks at his zipper and gives the impression of a wicked grin.
“With your teeth,” he commands.
And I do.
Kendall
Pleased to Meet You
“Coke or Pepsi?” the Adonis before me asks, as if the
only thing he intends on quenching is my thirst. I think
inaugurating me as his love slave for the evening is more specific
to the point.
He’s tall with broad shoulders and light blue
eyes the color that rain wishes it could be. He sports a five
o’clock shadow, the stubble is a little darker than the caramel
hair protruding from his ball cap. His cheeks are cut high and
chiseled. He’s one of
those
guys—the ones that make your
stomach squeeze tight with just one wayward look. We’ve been
stealing glances for the better part of an hour even though he was
seven-deep in girls, two of them gnawing on his ear and neck
respectively.
The Christmas lights on the anemic tree
behind him blink on and off spastically in a rainbow of holiday
hues with a pink bulb winking out of synch.
“I haven’t played
Questions
since
ninth grade,” I say, turning to the burgeoning crowd, pretending
like I’m not interested. Not that I didn’t get the fact he was
offering me a drink. Honestly, if a guy of his loose moral caliber
wants to sleep with me, the first thing I’m going to do is make his
brain cells strain a little—that is, if he has any.
All I really want to do is find Pennington
and convince him to stop guzzling his high-octane beverages long
enough to show me to my dorm. That was my first stupid move in
what’s panning out to be a bona fide fiasco—trusting a moron with
my housing arrangements.
“Questions?” The Adonis dips in with a lewd
smile budding on his lips. He’s wearing a white cotton T-shirt and
dark inky jeans—my all-time favorite combo on a guy. His tennis
shoes look as though they’ve seen their fair share of the great
outdoors. He’s probably the type who overindulges in half a dozen
sex sports before breakfast. I bet he’s some kind of perverted
adrenaline junky. God knows he’s pumping up mine.
He drinks me in with a fondling gaze,
undressing me with those blue cellophane eyes. He’s rounding out
all the bases mentally—he’s already bent me over home plate, I can
tell.
“You know,
Questions,
” I say, “Coke or
Pepsi, male or female—in or out .” I’m not sure if peppering the
conversation with innuendo is the best idea, although it’s most
likely his native language. I look past him at the crowd, trying to
distract myself from the fact he’s even more alarmingly handsome up
close than he was clear across the room.
“
In
or
out
?” He says,
seductively. “Definitely
in,
and for sure, female.” He gives
it in a heated whisper just over my ear and rips a fire through my
insides, awakening something in me on a primal level. His voice
resonates above the raucous music, and my eyes close involuntarily
at the quasi proposition.
Shit
. I startle to my senses and scan
the room for the simpleton I might be moved to strangle once I
locate. It’s my first day here at Garrison, and I’ve landed at some
frat party hosted by my mom’s best friend’s son, at Alpha Sigma
Phi, with my luggage sitting in the corner still fresh from the
airport.
The Adonis pushes out a smile, and a pair of
deep-set dimples go off, rendering me defenseless.
Honest to God, I’m about five minutes from
pulling Mr. Coke or Pepsi into the corner and raking my body
against his. Not that I’ve ever done that before, nor have I ever
been motivated to do so. But after a long travel day, and a
four-hour layover in five-inch heels, spontaneous sex doesn’t sound
so bad.
“Cruise Elton.” He shoves his hand at me as
if we were about to conduct business, and something in me softens
to him. His glacial eyes burn into mine. He’s watching me, drilling
his watery pools through all of the formidable layers I hide
beneath. He’s inspecting me for the truth, for the underpinnings of
who I really am. I bet he’s embroiled in deep philosophical
questions like do I know how to properly utilize my tongue and
whether or not I have a piercing that could pleasure him into an
erotic nirvana.
“Kendall Jordan,” I yell over the music,
taking up his warm, thick fingers. He feels safe, reliable, and
something stirs in me when we touch.
“Nice to meet you Kenny.” He gives a wicked
grin and swivels his hips into mine. He’s still acting like the
playboy he’s been for the last hour, but something in his eyes
tempers when he says my name, albeit incorrectly.
“It’s
Kendall
,” I repeat, rubbing my
thumb over his knuckles, memorizing how he feels before letting go.
I wish I were one of “those” girls. If I were ever going to be one,
tonight would be the night.
“You look more like a Kenny to me. Cute and
sporty.” He plucks off his baseball cap revealing dark blond waves
before settling it over his head again. His shirt rises over his
tan stomach, offering me a glimpse of rippling muscles, solid as
granite, and I resist the urge to run my fingers over him like some
erotic form of Brail.
I don’t know what he wants from me
.
At
least six girls stood ready to commit an entire slew of indecent
acts with him right here in the commons room with total disregard
to the bodies crammed into this place. I’m still in the awkward
glances phase when it comes to guys. For sure I haven’t graduated
to one-night stands at frat parties.
