Bittersweet Addiction Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Q.B. Tyler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Liz Lyons Lettering & Design

  Editing: Kristen—Your Editing Lounge

  Proofreading: Amy Halter

  Interior Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  I AM SO FUCKED.

  My feet are pounding the pavement, the sweat pouring out of me as I run the familiar trail at the ungodly hour of four am. I couldn’t sleep, my mind racing a mile a minute at what I did yesterday.

  What I did with Charlotte Pierce.

  I kissed her.

  Touched her.

  Fucked her.

  After three hours of tossing and turning, I threw the covers off me and decided to go for a run, hoping that the stress over sleeping with my married patient would melt away.

  It is not working.

  I knew I should have just made a drink.

  I push myself well into mile four, my lungs on fire with the speed at which I’m flying through the park and yet, I can’t stop.

  If I don’t stop, it didn’t happen. If I don’t stop, it didn’t happen.

  Focus on the pain, Will. Focus on trying to get the air into your lungs and not the ache in your dick that comes every time you think about Charlotte.

  Her sweet smile.

  Her sweet…cunt.

  I close my eyes. FUCK. She tastes like sin. Pure sex wrapped in a white satin bow that I’d had the great pleasure of unwrapping with my teeth. I worshipped at the altar of Charlotte Pierce’s body for hours in my office yesterday. No inch of skin was left unkissed, untouched, unfucked.

  I knew it. I knew I should have turned Charlotte and her husband away. Refused to counsel them, made up some reason why I wasn’t the right fit, then recommended someone else. The second I saw those eyes and she shot me that smile, I should have walked away. The second that she began to speak and I felt my heart breaking out of the block of ice that had been surrounding it for years, I should have told them I couldn’t ethically be their counselor.

  I had compassion for people, and the empathy that was required in my line of work. But that only went so far. I never let anyone in, due to things I learned as a marriage counselor: people are selfish and I wasn’t willing to put my heart out there just to have it eviscerated.

  I’d done that for years and it almost killed me.

  Enter Charlotte Pierce; she has the warmest disposition, the sweetest heart, and is one of the most insanely gorgeous women I’ve ever met. I let her in. Somewhere between her mouth on my balls and her ass in my hands as I fucked her on the leather sofa where she sat with her husband twice a week, I had let her in.

  And now, I am fucked.

  I mean it wasn’t completely my fault. I grit my teeth, angry at myself for trying to rationalize the choices I’ve made.

  It’s true, her husband is a dick, without a doubt. To be honest, I don’t know why she puts up with his shit. I’ve counseled women that would have left his inconsiderate ass years ago. And they were married to men that were much richer.

  They don’t have kids. What exactly is keeping her in this unhappy marriage? It can’t be the sex. They probably fuck face to face every time. Missionary style. Four polite minutes of sex and then they roll to their other sides of the bed.

  There’s no way he fucked her the way he needed to. Certainly not the way I do, which had her coming all over my cock…and my fingers…and my tongue.

  Fuck, now I am thinking about her coming. I am thinking about making her come. I am thinking about her taste.

  I stop running. The conclusion as blatant and obvious as the “Stop” sign in front of me.

  I fucked Charlotte Pierce and I was going to do it again.

  * * *

  I RUB A HAND OVER my jaw as I recall how I got here in the first place. The steps I took and the decisions I made that have all led me to this moment—the woman I love is crying so hard she’s shaking in my arms. She’s in my lap, clinging to me as if I’m a life raft in the midst of the treacherous waters of her life. “Charley, sweetheart, we should get up.” I pull her face out of my neck, stroking the skin just below her eyes before placing a kiss on her lips. “Come on, we’re going to go home.”

  “Home?” she squeaks, her eyes large and full of wonder, and I realize she’s probably not sure where that is exactly.

  “My house.” I rub my nose against hers. “You need to be with me.”

  Charlotte is silent the entire way home, her eyes never leaving the passenger side window. I drive her car, leaving mine at work in case Matt has some retaliatory idea of having her car towed from the premises. I grab her hand from her lap, lacing our fingers, and bring it to my mouth, rubbing my lips over her soft skin. I squeeze her hand gently and she looks at me, offering me a small smile before she returns her gaze back to the window, watching the tall buildings of the city turn to trees as we make our way into suburbia.

  I pull into the garage and turn the car off, the sound of our unclicking seatbelts piercing the silence. “Charlotte,” I say softly. She looks at me, her brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Baby, please don’t cry. I promise everything will be okay.”

  She swallows and shuts her eyes, squeezing her lids together, and when she opens them a lone tear trickles down her cheek. “You can’t promise me that.” Her voice wobbles, alerting me that she’s on the edge of a breakdown and that I need her in my arms. I’m out of the car in seconds, pulling her from her seat, and cradling her in my arms as I carry her through my house. I set her on the bed, pulling her shoes from her feet. I plant a kiss to both ankles and nod towards the head of the bed, telling her to move. She obeys and I wrap her in the blanket, pulling the covers up to her chin and kissing her cheek. “Get some rest, baby.” She doesn’t respond as she simply shuts her eyes, her lashes fanning out over her skin, worry etched across her features. I kiss her forehead,
in hopes that the frown lines will soften, but the harshness of the ‘V’ between her eyebrows doesn’t fade. I run my knuckles down her cheek before I slip out of the room, in preparation of making the phone call I desperately do not want to make.

  My hand shakes as I pour the tumbler of scotch almost to the brim and down the whole thing like a shot while my thumb hovers over the contact. I put the phone to my ear, fearing condemnation, yet expecting something even worse.

  I suddenly feel like I’m twelve years old again. Get yourself together, Will. You’re a grown man.

  “J.R. Montgomery,” his greeting is barked into the phone and I shake my head. It isn’t as if he hasn’t looked at the phone. He knows who’s on the other end.

  But that was J.R.. Jack Robert Montgomery, the typical hardass father that resulted in his kids calling him by his first name and not “Dad.” As a matter of fact, the only time I really acknowledge my father in that capacity was on the designated day in June when we have to.

  The only time my father could truly be counted on to show up was for my older brother or when my mother was hosting a dinner where she demanded his presence. I remember watching through the balusters of our staircase in equal parts fascination and disgust as my parents pretended to be the perfect couple in front of all the other WASPs in Georgia.

  “J.R…Dad…” I rub my hand over my eyes, willing the strength from every deity there ever was. “Everything is…fucked.”

  “Go on,” he says, his voice is even, with only a hint of condescension.

  “Charley’s husband knows.”

  It’s quiet, and for a second, I think he hung up, but then I hear his judgment. “How could you let that happen, William?” My fingers tighten around the glass upon hearing my full name. “How did it even happen?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m already exhausted from this conversation as the initial shock of the last few hours begins to wear off. I should have just slept this off with Charlotte. I should be wrapped up in her right now. I feel that familiar tingle in my fingers; they’re desperate to touch her smooth skin, to hold her warm body.

  “Try again.”

  My phone vibrates alerting me that I’ve received an email. For now, I ignore it, knowing J.R. rarely waited longer than a few seconds when he asked a question. “He showed up at my office. J.R… I don’t —” I sigh. “I think I need a lawyer.” That was about as close to “I need you” as I was willing to go. So, he better not be a dick about it.

  I hear the slam of a door, and then his voice resounding through the phone. “Forward my calls, I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.” I can just picture him barking orders to his new assistant I met last week. A young, red-haired woman, fresh-faced out of law school, unknowing of what her life is about to become while working for the tyrannical J.R. Montgomery. I wince, feeling for her. I wonder how long it will take until she goes home in tears, having just been verbally ripped apart at the hands of my father. How long ‘till she feels she isn’t good enough? There’s a reason why there is such a high turnover rate of women working for my father. He has unreasonable expectations, demanding perfection, and doling out harsh consequences to anyone that falls short.

  I know that all too well.

  Unless, of course, he’s sleeping with this one. I wince, thinking about my formative years, watching as my mom made dinners where my father was frequently absent. The nights he wasn’t home because he was “working late.” I didn’t understand until much later, in adolescence, that my father had strayed from my mother on more than one occasion.

  My mother simply turned a blind eye.

  “I’ll be there in twenty, William. Is Charlotte there?”

  “Yes.” I sigh, hoping to the heavens that she can just stay asleep until after hurricane J.R. whips through my house.

  “Good, I’ll need to speak with you both.”

  “Is that really necessary? She’s already a little skittish around you. I don’t need you exploding all over her.”

  “What reason does she have to be skittish?”

  “Don’t bullshit me. You used your position as my father to try and intimidate the shit out of her, knowing you could.”

  “Watch your language, William.” I hear his car start—a brand new black on black Maserati that no doubt cost more than a year of my salary.

  “Keep your attitude in check towards her, J.R., I mean it.” Charley is already on edge; her nerves are wound so tight she may snap at any second.

  “You think I’m bad, you just wait until your mother gets wind of this. She’s even less of a fan of your…girlfriend than I am.”

  Rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palm, I think about my mother. I groan inwardly. “Do not tell her to come here.”

  “No, I’m leaving her in the dark for now. We are going to get this under control.”

  “Great.” I sigh.

  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  “Fine.” I hang up without another word. I expect a series of “I told you so’s” and some hard truths, but I’m sure it’s a sugar-coated glimpse of what my future looks like once the ethics board gets wind of this.

  Fuck. The ethics board. Did Matt go to them already? Does his PI have pictures? Pictures of us together at the house?

  I remember the email alert and half of me wonders if it’s already the Director of the Board, requesting a meeting. I prepare myself for the worst but what I see shocks me instead.

  From: Matthew Wells

  Subject: No Subject

  To: Dr. William Montgomery

  Leave her and you can keep your practice.

  MW

  I sit on the edge of the bed, rage still coursing through me and I pull at my hair in frustration. I turn to look at the woman who’s still sleeping in my bed and notice she’s grabbed my pillow, submerging her face in it, and it makes me wonder if she is seeking comfort in my scent even in her slumber. My hand finds her hair, stroking her long tresses and a sigh escapes her lips.

  My thoughts begin to race as I think about the events of the past twenty-four hours. Matt is spiraling. He’s backed into a corner and he’s self-destructing. Does his email mean he hasn’t told his lawyer? Hasn’t reported me? What’s his game? I shake my head. You already know what his game is: he wants to take power over you —and Charley. Well, fuck that. I’ll turn myself in before I let him blackmail us.

  My mind drifts back to a different time. A time when Charlotte Pierce didn’t consume my every waking thought. If I were stronger, I would have turned her and her husband away the second I laid eyes on her in that strapless mid-length dress looking like trouble with legs.

  I move back into the living room, a fresh drink in my hand as I attempt to calm my nerves. I drop to the couch with a sigh, remembering the crossroads I came to seven months ago. I had called Charley to my office early, before her session, so that we could talk about what happened. I’d had the speech worked out perfectly. “What we did was unethical. We can’t do this again.” I’d repeated on a loop in my mind all morning. That all went to shit when she walked in wearing a dress that made her legs look a mile long. I knew in that moment that there was no way she was getting out of that room without my dick inside of her again.

  I had never been attracted to a patient before, and I thought I could put my hormones aside to counsel them. Help them.

  Instead I helped myself to his wife, then everything became a disaster.

  “Ms. Pierce,” I say as she closes the door behind her. The ball is in her court; if she wants it, she needs to let me know now. I know I want her again, but does she feel the same? My questions are answered when she locks the door, never taking her eyes off of me, and the sound of the click resounds off the walls of my office.

  “Dr. Montgomery,” she whispers as she stands by the door, not moving towards me. I think she’s waiting for my move so I get up and make my way towards her, each step feeling like an eternity.

  “Charlotte.”

  “William.”

 
“Charley.”

  “Will.”

  I smile, already turned on by this flirtatious back and forth. “How are you?” I ask.

  “The best I’ve felt in months,” she answers, and I wonder if that has to do with me.

  “Is that so?” I ask. The tension is crackling between us. I can almost taste her arousal, it surrounds me so completely. I know just by looking at her that her panties are completely flooded. “Why is that?”

  “Because of you.” She bites her lip and I have to reign in my hormones until I can get some clarity on this whole situation.”

  “Charlotte, what happened…”

  “Was amazing,” she finishes. “But I understand if…if it can’t happen again,” she says the words but her body language doesn’t match them. She stares me square in the eye, daring me to challenge her.. But more importantly, as she shifts back and forth between left and right, I gather that she’s turned on. She wants me. Now.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I want whatever you think is best.”

  “This isn’t what’s best,” I tell her honestly. But I know my body betrays my words as well.

  “I see.” Her eyes find the floor again, and I take a step towards her, extending my hand to move underneath her chin. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

  She takes a step forward reaching her hand out to me. I know this is the moment that will seal my fate but I let her wrap her arms around me, drawing them up around my neck and press her lips to mine, pouring herself into a kiss. “I need this, it’s not a matter of want.” She leans against me, and before I realize what’s happened her tiny dress has been thrown across the room and I’m sucking her breast as if I’m trying to swallow it whole.

  We finish defiling my office once more, and then we are breathing as if we have just run a marathon, a mess of limbs on my couch. She drags her lips over my chest and finds my mouth, kissing me with an aggression that I’ve never experienced. It’s almost as if I’ve set a fire in her that she’s never known and she’s relishing in the sexy creature that she’s become.

 
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