Chapter 4: “Addicted”

The next three Saturdays blurred into a single, endless loop of need. Room 214 became our church and our confessional. Every Monday I’d wake up already counting the hours until the next game. Every night I’d lie beside David pretending to scroll Pinterest while actually rereading Ryan’s filthy texts. I started wearing my hair down more often. I bought new yoga pants — the kind that made my ass look criminal. I told myself it was just for me. Lies came easier now, slipping out like second nature.

The first Saturday after the Marriott was when everything shifted from “just sex” to something darker. The game ended early — 4-1 blowout — and Jake went home with a teammate for a sleepover. I had four full hours. Ryan was already in the room when I knocked. The second the door closed he didn’t kiss me. He spun me around, pressed my chest to the wall, and yanked my yoga pants down in one rough motion.

“Hands flat,” he growled in my ear. “Don’t move.”

I obeyed instantly. My heart slammed against my ribs. He kicked my feet apart, dropped to his knees, and ate me from behind like he was punishing me for making him wait all week. Two thick fingers pumped hard while his tongue flicked my clit. I came in under a minute, biting my own arm to stay quiet.

He stood up, belt already open. “You’ve been teasing me in those tight pants all season. Time to pay for it.” He bent me over the desk, ass up, and slapped my left cheek hard enough to sting. I gasped. He slapped the right one. Then again. And again. Each smack sent heat flooding between my legs.

“Say it,” he ordered, rubbing the head of his cock against my dripping slit.

“I’m your slut,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“I’m your slut, Ryan. Your married slut.”

He slammed into me in one thrust. No condom. No gentleness. Just raw, punishing strokes that made the desk bang against the wall. He grabbed my ponytail like reins, pulling my head back so he could growl in my ear, “Your husband has no idea his perfect wife is bent over a hotel desk taking another man’s cock, does he?”

“No,” I moaned, pushing back to meet every thrust. “He has no fucking idea.”

He spanked me again, harder, and I came so violently my knees buckled. He didn’t slow down. He fucked me through it, then flipped me onto my back on the desk, legs over his shoulders, and drove deeper. When he finally came he buried himself to the hilt and held there, pulsing, flooding me until I felt it overflow and run down my ass.