Obsessive Compulsion (12 page)

It’s all going so well, and I think that the
blindfold and the tight bindings must have been the issues last
week. I think we’re in the clear. I think Ian and I can actually
make this work.

“Stop.”

Victoria’s voice breaks into my mind,
shattering the moment. I pull back and am shocked to see Ian with
wide eyes and twitching muscles. I’m confused, hurt and worried all
at the same time.

I look between Ian and Victoria, unable to
keep the emotions completely under control. “What did I do wrong?
Twitch, are you okay? Twitch?
Breathe
, Ian.”

Ian sucks in a deep breath as I lean further
away from him, removing my hands from his body. Again, I look to
Victoria for answers. “What did I do?”

“Too fast,” Victoria replies. “You need to
slow down. You were doing very well, so don’t get too upset. I’m
very impressed, but with first timers, you should always do your
advances in stages, being certain you aren’t letting your own needs
control the momentum.”

“Baby steps. I understand,” but I’m also
still confused. I
know
this isn’t Ian’s first time being
bound. I asked Brandon after last Friday’s fuck-up. “But, what do
you mean by
first timers
? First time doing what,
exactly?”

Victoria’s dark brown eyes widen as she
looks at Ian. “You didn’t tell her?!”

Ian doesn’t answer. He just lowers his head,
his sandy hair falling over his eyes. Between his shamed body
language and the expression on Victoria’s face, I put two and two
together, then I gasp.
Mercy
. Ian is a virgin?

“Well,” Victoria sighs in heavy
disappointment directed towards Ian. “You two obviously have more
talking to do. We will continue this lesson next week. Please untie
him and then, for the love of God, talk to each other.”

As Victoria leaves the room, I quickly untie
Ian’s bindings. He’s still refusing to look at me, even as I set
the rope aside and sit back on my heels. I fidget for a moment,
then waste time putting my glove back on. I hate fidgeting, but I’m
not sure what to say. I don’t want to embarrass a nearly
thirty-year-old man.

Unable to stand the silence any more, I
exhale the breath I’d been holding. “I wish you would’ve told
me.”

“I know,” his words waver. “I should have. I
just never found the right time,” his voice turns dark. Aggravated.
Self-mocking. “Yeah… I keep my stove unplugged, no fridge, I’ve got
a stalker-worthy wall of your art, oh and by the way, I’m also a
twenty-eight-year-old virgin. Pretty hot dating material,
right?”

By the end, he’s almost hissing the words
past his tight jaw. I’m watching him come unglued, right in front
of me. “You think that matters to me?” I lean forward between his
parted knees, trying to get him to look at me. “You think I care
about something like that?”

“No, but I do!” He jumps to his feet and
passes me, heading for the door.

I get in his way. “No running, Ian. I’m not
gonna run like I did on Wednesday, and you don’t get to run,
either.”

I watch his whole frame convulse in one,
giant twitch. He’s fighting internal demons, and I can’t possibly
make him fight them alone. I open my arms, he hesitates, and then
he falls into them, burying his face into my covered neck.

“I’m
so tired
, Charlie,” he sounds
more than tired. He sounds completely exhausted. “I’m so tired of
every single second of my life being a never ending war that I
can’t ever seem to win.”

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to win, sweetie.”
My fingers run through his hair, wishing I didn’t have all this
leather between us but understanding now, more than ever, how
necessary it is. “Maybe you’re just supposed to survive.”

He leans back, our souls reflecting back at
one another. “Is that what you do?”

The question is hard to answer, but he’s
looking at me like he can already tell, like he already knows how
unsteadily I walk through life despite my put-together appearance.
Ian
gets
it, the same way I get him. I blink away a tear
that forms without warning. “Every day I’m able to smile more than
cry is considered a victory.”

The admission falls out, and it’s too late
to take any of it back. He stares at me, long and hard, then leans
in to catch the tear with his lips as it beads against my chin. The
significance of that single gesture, that he actually caught my
tear with his lips, isn’t lost on me.

I kiss his forehead, take his hand then lead
us towards the bed. “I think we could both use a rest. Will you lay
and talk with me?”

His fingers tighten in between mine, but he
doesn’t stop me. When we get to the bed, he kneels down and begins
unzipping my boots. The slow, methodical motion of his fingers as
they slide the zipper downwards draws my full attention. Even with
the simple act of removing my boots, he’s asking me for
patience.

He stops, pats the mattress and I sit.
“Thank you,” he whispers as he continues tending to my boots.

I think Ian may have a shoe fetish, not that
I’m complaining. It’s actually kind of sexy the way his fingers are
gliding along the leather and caressing each grommet. “Do you like
my boots?”

“I love your boots,” he keeps his voice
quiet. Reverent, almost, as he slides one boot off and sets it
gently aside. When he’s done with the other, he unzips his own
boots and sets them next to mine in a perfect line before standing.
“I’ll could shine them later for you?”

I can tell, just by the way he asks, that he
wants to tend to my boots. “I would appreciate that.”

His lips curl into a smile. If servicing my
boots makes Ian happy, then who am I to judge? We all have our
quirks. I like posing models, bound in rope, and then body painting
them. I wonder if Ian would ever let me caress his skin with my
brush instead of just my finger.

Glancing over his body, I think his exposed,
lean and muscular chest is begging to be used as a canvass. Unable
to resist, I palm his chest, fanning my gloved fingers out across
his skin. His pectorals quiver, but he remains perfectly still as I
raise my eyes up to his. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s
staring intently at the top of my head.

“Please grab my hairbrush from my bag,” I
request. He inhales deeply then rushes to comply. I don’t know if
Ian is just easy to read, but I like that I can guess some of
what’s going on in that brain of his. He carefully goes through my
things until he finds the brush then stands back in front of me,
waiting. “I would like you to take out my braid.”

“Yes, Charlie,” he whispers before joining
me on the bed. Kneeling behind me, he starts at the bottom, taking
out the band that’s holding my long, braided ponytail together.
After securing the band to the hairbrush’s handle, he slowly begins
unwinding the braid. “Your hair is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I smile. I’ve had plenty of
other men tell me my hair is pretty, but none of them have ever
quite said it like Ian. He says it the same way I might say a
painting by Monet or John Waterhouse is beautiful. Those paintings
touch places in my soul. The word
beautiful
is inadequate to
describe them, but it’s the best word I have.

Closing my eyes, I give him all the time he
needs, letting the sensations of the brush combing through my hair
tingle my scalp. “That feels wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” The brush stops. “I
could
do this for hours, you know.”

A light laugh bubbles through my chest. “I’m
sure, but that may cause me to go bald.”

Setting the brush down, he leaves the bed to
stand in front of me again. I’m happy to see he’s smiling, too.
Leaning back on the bed, I scoot over and pat the mattress next to
me. “For now, I would like you to lay with me.”

“I would like that, too.” His eyes show a
want for something more, but his jaw twitches to reveal the
continued struggle within.

Holding my arms open to him, I wait to see
how far I can take each step. I’ve got him into the bed, we’re
talking, and now he’s accepting my invitation to lay in my arms. I
resist the urge to wrap my body around his and hold him tight. He
has problems being touched while I have problems not being able to
touch him. It’s a delicate dance of give and take, but I think
we’re slowly figuring out the right moves to keep from stepping on
each other’s toes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, nuzzling against
the latex covering my breast and shoulder.

My smile widens as I close my eyes, taking
in the feeling of finally having Ian pressed up against me. There
may be layers of leather and latex between us, but it’s still two
bodies coming together in the only way they can. At least, for now.
This man is worth every bit of patience I have, and maybe, just
maybe, we can stop simply surviving through life. Maybe we can
fight together to finally start living.

The sound of Charlie’s heartbeat is soothing
music to my war-weary soul. I meant what I said. I’m tired. Beyond
tired. It may be prime numbers and electrical fire nightmares that
keep me up at night instead of gunfire and insurgents, but I’ve
been fighting this battle for as long as I can remember, and every
part of me is sick of it.

I have battle scars in the shapes of
countless relationships gone sour, friendships lost to cracks in
the sidewalk and family members who became ghosts in my life
because they couldn’t deal with the way I agonize over every little
detail. There have been times when the night became too lonely and
the ticks became too much. Times when I’ve contemplated the
unthinkable. Times when I’ve committed myself to a hospital to keep
me from committing myself to a morgue.

Tonight, those ideas are far away while I
listen to the repeating thump of Charlie’s heart, counting the
beats in sets of six. And yet, those thoughts are also closer than
ever before. It’s strange how my mind can hold onto something even
while trying to let it go. Charlie, in her constant patience, is
peeling away the scars one by one. It leaves me raw, open and bare,
but I can’t remember the last time I felt this at peace.

Her gloved fingers idly toy with my hair,
swooping down occasionally to caress my cheek or shoulder. I think
an hour passes us by, my mind continuing to count the passage of
time with the beats of her heart. I believe I could be content to
lay here forever. As her hand makes another sweeping pass, lightly
touching her gloved fingertips over my jaw, I’m reminded that
Charlie deserves more than a passive forever.

She watches me as I raise to one elbow and I
can see a hint of worry in her eyes. Perhaps she’s worried I’m
leaving, running again for the door before my twitches become an
embarrassing earthquake. Although there’s no guarantee that I won’t
end up shaking like an addict two days into rehab, I’m not going to
run from her. From this. From us.

I’m going to give it everything I have from
this point forward, and when she pushes my boundaries, I’m going to
make myself remember what it is I’m fighting for. “Thank you. I
don’t know where all your patience comes from, but I can’t ever
hope to thank you enough for it.”

The worry in her eyes is replaced with
compassion. “It comes from helping to raise Emma. She’s worth every
step back I’ve ever had to take with her. I think you are,
too.”

My lips meet leather to kiss her palm. “Even
given my… inexperience?”

“I do wish you’d told me,” she says again,
and I know she’s absolutely right.

Given what we were trying, what this club
and lifestyle involves, it should have been one of the first things
I confessed to her. I have
so much
to confess to this
woman.

“That’s the only reason it bothers me,” she
continues, “because I was pushing you, but your actual virginity?
No. I mean, I get why you probably didn’t tell me. I get the stigma
behind it, but to me, not having had sex at your age doesn’t make
you any less of a man.”

I love how her bluntness always hits the
nail right straight on. “I was worried. Not that I think you’re
shallow,” I quickly add. “I just… I’ve had nightmares that included
you laughing at me, not that I think you would, but my brain is
rarely rational these days.”

A quiet laugh bounces her chest, making me
smirk as she tries to swallow it back down. I raise an eyebrow
ruefully at her and break the remaining tension with a quip. “Ah,
see,
there
is the laugh.”

“Because you’re funny,” she laughs more.
“You’re a very clever man who can laugh at himself despite
everything.”

“If I didn’t laugh about it, Charlie, I’d be
crying.” My lip twitches at those words. Confession number two.

“Or bouncing in a rubber room?” She raises
an eyebrow, demanding a real answer despite her playful tone.

“On occasion, it’s been necessary,” I reply,
meeting her gaze. Confession number three. “I’ve been hospitalized
a few times. Sometimes it’s been my decision, other times it
wasn’t.”

“If you like the straight jacket, you only
need to ask,” she winks.

“I’m sure you would enjoy binding me up,” I
retort.

“I would.” Her fingers wrap around one of my
wrists, and with a gentle push, I find myself on my back with that
wrist above my head and Charlie’s face grinning down at me. “But
only because you enjoy it, too.”

“I do.” Confession number four is probably
pretty obvious. My eyes dart between her face and the red strands
of hair falling over her shoulder. “Remember what I said on
Saturday?”

Her eyebrow cocks up higher. “Before you
stole my painting?”

“Yes, before I
saved
your painting
from further injury,” I snort. She blushes. My heart falls deeper
in love. “I said I need you to push my boundaries. Despite
Victoria’s ire at my stupidity, I very much enjoyed last Friday,
and tonight.”