Page 53 of The Addict

Luckily, Noah’s house was layered. Each window and floor had its own ledge that pointed downward to the next floor. Like my own little tilted staircase to use as I pleased. I eased to the drop off point, lowering myself, swinging one leg out, then the other, and found a foothold on the narrow ledge.

Steadying myself on the exterior wall, I started to shimmy down. I felt the cool air on my face as I descended. I adjusted my weight from one side to the other, inching downwards while I kept an eye on the ground below.

Soon my feet dropped to the grass with a soft thud. And I kind of stood there rather than heading straight to my car. Half of me was pumped with adrenaline, half in shock. I was euphoric, every nerve beneath the skin tingling. This must be how a shot of heroin feels, pure ecstasy, straight to the vein. That’s what I had with Noah beneath me, moaning my name.

Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that I would claim Noah. He’d been the prize I couldn’t win, the treasure I sought out blindly with no intentions of ever securing. He was off limits. He was forbidden.

He was a dream.

And the craziest part was that he didn’t even realize it. How good he was. How imperfectly perfect. How fucking mad he drove me.

Well, maybe he did know that much. He constantly set me on fire.

When I got behind the wheel, I had no idea what to do with myself. I had driven myself here and knew I needed to get back home. I looked out into the darkness beginning to fall over Noah’s estate, and I longed to go back to him. I wanted to be in his bed. I wanted to talk to him. I hadn’t wanted to leave in such a rush.

I wanted to know why he was in tears.

When I saw those raven eyes brimmed over, my heart stopped beating in my chest. It was the first time I had seen Noah cry. Off the top of my head, I could recall moments during our childhood of fear, timidity, maybe even anger, but never a time where I witnessed him break down and cry like he did today. The origin of his tears were a mystery to me, and my body felt constricted, as if tugged by a rope, with the desire to return to his side until I could determine what had caused them.

I loved pain, this much was true. I enjoyed inflicting it. Even on Noah. But nothing could have prepared me for those tears coating his cheeks. The idea that I could have caused him pain past the point of pleasure, pain to the point of mental anguish—that wasn’t something I could handle.

Those tears had my name on them, I knew. He just wasn’t telling me. There was something he was keeping from me, and I doubted I’d ever find out the truth.

I wish I could’ve stayed long enough to ask. To make up for it.

Fucking Damian. Always in the way, literally.

I started my car up and eased out of his driveway. I took one last look at the window, hoping Noah could work out his lie. Seeing him try to fabricate a story to protect us made me feel something I didn’t entirely comprehend. I was gradually realizing that Noah still had a grip on me that I was powerless to escape. Having sex with him didn’t put out the flames or make the cacophony in my head stop.

It stoked the embers.

I thought that having Noah this way would ease the hunger I had for him.

But it didn’t.

I was a fiend, and I wanted more. It wasn’t enough.

I questioned if it ever would be.

Chapter thirteen

Daddy's Home

NOAH

Iwaited for whatever vengeance was coming while sitting in the living room. I had been banished there for about an hour while my mom and Damian argued about me. From the conference room next to me, I could hear the growing noise and wondered, without much concern, what they were discussing.

I already knew. Considering the look of pure disgust on Damian’s face when he exited my bedroom, he must have known what Silas and I had done.

I was losing my mind just sitting there in the oddly shaped chair that my mother had taken such a liking too. I started counting the tiles on the floor, just to mediate some of the boredom I was enduring. When that disinterested me, I started to admire my reflection in the shine the floor gave off. I rummaged through my pockets, wondering vaguely how pissed my mother would be if I lit a cigarette in her sitting room. I needed to cool down.

The front door slammed, sending a harsh chill up my spine. My whole body grew cold.

David was home.

The house grew strangely quiet, and I could imagine my mother greeting the bastard with a peck on the lips like a good little housewife. Right about now, Damian would have received a pat on the back and a, “How’s it going, son?”

The muffled talking initiated once again. I crossed my fingers over my lap and tried to listen to what they were saying. Of course, Damian would tell father what he found. He was such a suck up, only concerned with deals that would end up hurting or helping him for personal gain. Even though he was seven years older than me, he still lived for our parents’ approval.