Monica is currently sitting on my bed in nothing but a towel. She's looking around nervously, like she's not quite sure what to do with herself. Why is she acting like that? Oh yeah, that's right, because her clothes are soaking wet. I can't help but grin at the memory of just how they got that way. I rummage around through my drawers and pass her one of my shirts but she's so petite she's probably going to drown in the stupid thing.

Even if the thing is huge on her she's bound to look insanely attractive in it. Jesus Christ, can my brain just stop it? The more time I spend with her the more my brain rapidly deteriorates.

She smiles that beautiful smile and says thank you before dropping her towel to change. I can't help but stare at her naked body some more as she slips my shirt over her head with a dopey looking grin. Why do girls always love to wear the guy they're sleeping with's clothing? Nope. No. I did not just go there. There's no with each other going on here. It was just casual sex a few times.

I shake my head to try and get the thoughts out as I look away from her immediately. I drop my towel unabashedly, knowing she's probably enjoying the view just as much as I was. I know she sure was enjoying the view in the shower while I was pounding into her.

I grab some pants, slipping them on before turning to her. Just do it, get it over with. You're no good. You're too damaged. This will never work.

I look over her, memorizing the way she's looking at me because it will most likely be the last time she does so. My anxiety is coursing through my veins like rapid wildfire, which is strange because it never does in these types of situations. I have to do this because this is just what I always do. So, I turn my douchebag-fuckboy persona to level one-thousand because I know it's the only thing that will make her leave.

I look away from her and fixate on the blank white wall. "Well, thanks for the soup, the squirt and the fuck but I think we're done here, right? I mean, you should really be thanking me for the amount of orgasms I gave you in the shower though." I know I'm the biggest asshole in the universe right now and it's the only time I've ever truly fucking hated myself for it.

"Wait, you're kidding right?" She even let's out a little laugh.

Fuck, she really thinks I'm kidding. Fuuuuuuck. I swallow the lump in my throat and continue starring at the wall. "Listen, you're a good fuck, you really are, but you know you're nothing more than that."

"Wait, what?" Monica's voice cracks and I can't help but look over at her to assess the damage I've done. Her face is twisted in the most hurtful fashion and she's scrunching her eyebrows as she scrutinizes me painfully.

I. Fucking. Hate. Myself.

I grit my jaw and steel my features to avoid showing any sign of emotion. "We're done here, Monica. You want some good dick you're going to have to look elsewhere from now on. I usually don't screw the same person twice but what can I say, the soup was amazing and I figured I owed it to you."

"Are you kidding me?" I shrug in nonchalance at her question. "Wow, you're a fucking asshole." Her eyes begin to well with tears. "You're the biggest fucking asshole, Sean!" She yells as she shoves me hard, hard enough to make me stumble back into my dresser.

I hate being touched. I hate being handled and she just fucking handled me. I grit my teeth harder and look up at the ceiling. She just made my inner monster lurk to the forefront of my head. Oh, you thought I couldn't be more of a dick, sweetheart? Well, surprise, surprise because volatile behavior is what made me this way.

"Listen, Monica. I'm going to tell you this one time and one time only. I will never be anything to you. I will not be your knight in shining armor or whatever the fuck it is you think you want me to be. I am not that guy. I am the guy who will fuck you senseless, because clearly, you've lost all of your sense. You're acting like you didn't already know who the fuck I was before you let me between your legs. You probably should've thought about the first day you met me before you let me fuck you so easily."

She smacks me. Hard. I mean really, really fucking hard. So god damn hard that my demons are basically climbing up the walls. "Get the fuck out of my apartment. Get the fuck out of my life, Monica." If you know what's good for you.

"Gladly, you piece of shit." Monica surprises me even more by spitting in my face before storming out of my apartment.

I wipe her spit off of my face angrily. I am so fucking angry right now. No woman has ever spit in my fucking face. Not one. I have been slapped, quite a few times actually, but never this. I stare at my apartment door and debate kicking her door down so I can fuck her until she can't salivate for the rest of her life.

What am I even talking about? As long as I'm around women will be salivating their panties off. Even having Monica spit in my face can't wound my exorbitant ego.

-&-

It's three and a half weeks after my little meltdown with Monica. I haven't seen her since, I've just heard the loud slam of her door and the angry mumbles directed at mine. My lease is up in a few months so I won't have to be dealing with that for too much longer but that's what I get for fucking the girl who lives right across from me.

Aside from that, I find myself in another particularly irritating situation due to my uncontrollable sexual urges. Because here I am getting told I need to find another group to go to. This is because Tim. Tom. Ted? I can never fucking remember. Anyway, the shitty-haircut-guy walked in on me busting all over the sex addicts face. Whoops.

I'm nodding, even though I'm not really listening to a single word coming out of his mouth. I never did, especially in that cluster-fuck basement. He's giving me the times and days when I can come. Hopefully there will be another sex addict in those groups so I can actually come. I really don't care that I have to change days I'm just happy he didn't walk in right before I nutted. This dude's haircut would have killed whatever orgasm I had.

Which is to say that it took me for-fucking-ever to come. This is exactly what happened the previous week when I had fucked... Tisha? Talia? I could barely get off. I thought it was because she was so loose that my dick felt like it was drifting out to sea but no, that wasn't it.

I couldn't get Monica out of my fucking skull. Literally, my fucking skull is littered with images of her every time I think about sex these days. Every single time I want to fuck I immediately think back to the shower and those magnificent faces she made or pleasuring her in my kitchen. The way her hands pulled my hair and her body trembled beneath mine played vividly in my head like my own private porno.

Needless-to-say, fucking Tara in the bathroom or getting blown by her isn't exactly cutting it for me these days. Being with her is the exact opposite of having sex with Monica. Her eyes are wrong. Her hair is wrong. Basically, every single thing about her is wrong.

Nothing feels right in the sex department these days and that never fucking happens. Usually, my dick doesn't have a preference as long its buried in wet warmth. It's apparent that now it does though and that preference is Monica fucking Cavalieri.

"I have to get to work." I say interrupting shit-haircut guy. "I'll think about the times and let you know."

"Okay, Mr. McCaslin. If you need any help let me know." He gives me, what I'm assuming is, his version of a flirtatious grin and puts a hand on my shoulder.

Get the fuck off of me you flirtatious fucking prick. I don't fucking roll that way. Only females get this dick.

It takes everything in me to turn around and walk away from him because all I want to do is punch him in the face. It's not that I'm homophobic, I just hate being touched. Especially if you're a man touching me and I can't even express how much I monumentally hate if it's in a sexual manner. My demons are scratching at the back of my skull and I cannot wait to get to work.

I'm a bartender at my friend's club and that's probably the worst job any addict could have. Or in my case I think it's the best job because I don't care that I have a problem. Being around a bunch of fucked-up and horny people is like heaven to me.

By the time I get to work it's almost nine. I make my way behind the bar where my hot-as-fuck coworker Lola is. Every time I see her I sing that fucking stupid song by The Kinks. La la la la Lola... She hates it, so it makes me do it every time. She tells me I'm a dick and hey, I agree with her.

The night goes by in a series of shots, martinis, and beers like every other Friday night. The music is really good tonight which means I've been dancing like an idiot with Lola. She's got an amazing rack, I fucked it one time and surprisingly, she was more than into it.

"Hey, how about we give it a go tonight?" She wriggles her eyebrows at me.

"Did you just say give it a go?" I quirk an eyebrow at her. "Like I haven't already fucked your chest and then busted all over it?"

She holds a hand up, "I was there, you remember? I couldn't get that shit out of my hair."

Hah, oh fuck. I can't hold back the laughter that tears through me. She's giving me the evilest glare she can conjure and I don't give a fuck. I had made a wonderfully beautiful mess of her long blonde locks that night. I was rather proud of myself, my ego was pleasantly surprised at the amount I had managed to pull off.

"So, what you're really trying to say is that you want me to dick you down tonight?"

"Yes, precisely." She says while shaking a drink in her hand.

"Sounds like a plan, but only if we go to your place." She had some kinky shit there and a particular brunette didn't live across the hall at her place.

She smirks, "Okay."

For some reason my brain betrays me again and I think of Monica. I'm wondering what she's doing this evening, more accurately who she's doing. I wonder if someone else has made her come since I made her come. I wonder if she has made herself come thinking of me, because I know she most likely has. That's when I look up and am immediately pulled out of my delicious thoughts of Monica finger-fucking herself.

There she is with some fucking blonde guy who looks like he goes to the gym and screams in the mirror at himself while lifting too much weight. He's got a stupid tribal tattoo that probably means fuckboy on his bicep.

Sweetheart, there's no way on the planet that man can give you pleasure like I can.

This juice head, because he's clearly doing steroids, probably has a centimeter-peener-wiener. All that's going on downstairs is a baby carrot, I'm sure of it. I'm going to have to stop her from making the biggest mistake her pussy will ever make.

"Hey Lola, I'll be back in a minute."

✭✭✭✭✭
A/N:

Hope the wonderful people of wattpad are doing well today! When I had originally posted this book this chapter marked one full month of posting. It was my first and only novel at the time.

Anyway, thank you all for your support. Don't forget to vote, comment, and press that follow button for updates of my ongoing works!