Someone to Love - By Addison Moore


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.
Chapter 1 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