The Billionaire's Addiction

Chapter One - Phone Sex

Phone Sex

Elizabeth's POV

I need to get laid.

Staring at the blank white screen on my laptop I rub at my tired eyes. I had to resist the strong urge to hurl it across the room.

Three hours. Three bloody hours I've been staring at this empty word page and nothing. I swear to god that little blinking line was taunting me.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

My body was aching, strung out. Under normal circumstances I could use my sexual frustrations to my advantage, venting it out on the page. My readers loved a good sex scene, and I did my best work when I was chomping at the bit. But this is ridiculous. I couldn't concentrate.

My body craved sex like a man in the desert craves water. Fidgeting on the couch I try to remember the last time I actually had real sex, not just in my mind fantasy sex.

I have to count on my fingers. No, that can't be right. I count again.

Yup, nearly three years.

A romance author that hasn't been laid in three years...I hate myself.

Slumping back on the couch I mindlessly watch an episode of Friends on Netflix. I always have the T.V. on when I write, not to watch, just to listen. I can't stand the silence of my big empty apartment.

Glancing around I take in the barren shelving and plain furniture. Did I really own so little? Loneliness and frustration mix in with my raging hormones. It's a vicious cycle.

Maybe I should call Eric...

As soon as that thought enters my brain I cringe. I know I shouldn't feel put off by the idea of calling my boyfriend, but Eric is just so...boring. Like his name. Eric Williams. I know just how the night would play out, Eric focused on his video games, me staring aimlessly at my laptop.

Boring with a capital B.

Just break up with him, that nagging little voice inside my brain says for the umpteenth time. The very idea scares me. What if I never find anyone else?

Frowning, I look down at my body, plucking at my baggy pink sweater. I'm what the politically correct world calls 'plus size'. Which to me is just a nice way of saying big hips, big tits, big ass. My belly has never been flat, not even when I was a kid. I did take care with my appearance, my thick brown hair is always shining, my makeup never out of place. I like to think I'm pretty, but men weren't exactly lining up for my number.

When I hit thirty I felt it was time to settle. Any moment I was going to start adopting cats. Eric had been my fall back. He was dependable, well rounded, safe.

And he has absolutely no sex drive. Nothing killed a woman's self-confidence like a floppy dick.

"Arg!" Slumping over I bury my face in the couch cushion, cheeks hot with embarrassment. Just the memory of his flaccid manhood stung. I never wanted to face such humiliation again.

Why can't Eric be more...well, more? Was that too much to ask? My body craved the touch of a man. A real man. Hot and masculine, pinning me against the wall, staring at me with open hunger. His hands big and rough.

Can't stand this.

I roll to my back, letting my hand slip inside my black leggings to tease aside my panties. I didn't usually masturbate. It was never enough. The orgasm - when I managed to have one - was always short and weak, leaving me unsatisfied. But right now, fuck it. I'm so wet, aching painfully.