Free Obsession: An Erotic Heaven and Hell Chronicle by Erica Ashley Page A

her.
    “I’m Nicole! Who are you?”
    “Eric, didn’t I tell you that?”
    “Maybe… how could I remember? What’s on TV?”
    She turned on CNN.
    And back in reality, I was.
    In the middle of a one-night stand with the best sex of my life.
    I sighed.
     
    It was morning. A new year. A new beginning. She was still there. I was still there. I wasn’t hung-over, but lord knows I should have been. I loved to party.
    “Listen,” she said, “Don’t text me if you want to see me again.” Her dress was shockingly not ripped apart, but in one piece. I would have sworn I tore it off when I couldn’t take it anymore.
    “Only pussies text, men call, and we call when we want to. But there is something you should know about me.”
    “What, you’re married?”
    “No, I’m not from here.”
    “Where are you from?”
    “New Orleans.”
    “Get the hell out of here. Me too!”
    “Wow. I wonder if we know the same people.”
    “Maybe,” she said, handing me a napkin, “Here is my number. Use it properly.” She kissed me, and left.
    The second she left, I suddenly got a huge headache. The hangover had begun.
     
    I had always wanted to do New Year’s Eve in Miami.
    No angels there, only the devil’s children who wanted to live it up like there was no tomorrow. Sin felt so good. They had just opened up this new swanky hotel called Le Chivalres, and I got a deal for the party on the rooftop overlooking South Beach, plus a nice room, and I thought, why not? I had just become single and I wanted to go fuck something.
    I had no idea what I would end up finding.
    Miami, town of silicone, fake personalities.
    But Nicole was anything but fake. Maybe that was because she was from New Orleans.
    I flew in to Miami the day before, hitting the beach during the day, and hitting on girls at night. I almost went home with one, but her friends all intervened. No angels there, there would be no angels in Miami this New Year’s, only Satan’s minions. But what fun minions!
    How sin felt so good.
    The morning after, New Year’s Day, as I walked through South Beach looking for a sandwich, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nicole.
    I felt passion for her that I had never felt before. Passion that I knew would turn to love. I just hoped she’d feel the same way.
    Turns out, she did feel the same way, as I would discover later.
    But she had a secret.

Women have secrets, don’t they always? It’s their way to keep their dominion over us.
    Nicole had a secret, a terrible one. I was about to find out the hard way what it was.
    After consuming some greasy food from a diner, I headed to the airport and flew back home to New Orleans. I slept the entire way, and dreamt of Nicole’s hard naked body. Her tight beautiful breasts that beckoned me. Her wet pussy that was beginning to forever enslave me. I was going to fuck her again..
    And then we landed in New Orleans, and I woke up.
    Amazing.
    I got to my condo on St. Charles Ave, and passed out on the couch. I dreamed of her again. I dreamed of her naked body grinding against mine. I dreamed of fucking her, hard. Again, and again. I couldn’t wait to fuck her again.
    I called her the next day, and left her a message. I didn’t hear anything from her. I left her another message, but nothing. I finally decided, I had nothing to lose, so I wrote her a text message. I thought, I would never see her again. I got back to work, I had a deadline; my latest romance novel was due in a week to my publisher. I threw myself into my work; writing romance novels couldn’t help but show my readers what a die-hard romantic I was. And living in the city of New Orleans fed my passions, fed my work. This city seduces you, bends you over and fucks you and you’ll love every minute of it. It was a mix of Creole-underbelly nonsense Voodoo magic, spirituality out of control, food rich enough to give you a heart attack, goodness! All I did was write.
    All I could do was write about her.
    I was obsessed with