by S. Walden
“I hugged you in front of people!”
“So what? Lots of people are affectionate with others. You’re a touchy-feely person. No big deal.”
“But I’m not a touchy-feely person at all, and those people out front know it!”
I breathed deeply. It was starting. Anxiety creeping, crawling, climbing up my stomach into my throat. No, back down and through my arms instead. Going for the hands. Not the hands. Please, God, not the hands! I grabbed my purple pen.
“Bailey, don’t do it,” Reece said.
I tapped my pen.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
“Shut up!” I cried, and tapped it again. I took another breath. Tap tap. Breathe. And a tap. Breathe. And two more taps—
Reece yanked the pen out of my hand.
“Hey! Give it back!” I demanded.
“You need to get a grip. You freaking out is making it worse,” Reece hissed. “Act cool.”
“Act cool?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“Give me my pen,” I said slowly.
“No.”
We stared each other down. This was the exact opposite way Dr. Gordon taught my family members to deal with Dad and me. You’re not supposed to threaten your OCD family member or friend. You’re not supposed to make her feel badly for submitting to an urge. Of course, you’re not supposed to encourage it either. But Reece shouldn’t have taken my pen. That wasn’t helping. That was being a bully, and Dr. Gordon would have a thing or two to say about that.
I picked up my green pen. It wasn’t purple—the one I really wanted to tap—but at least it was next in line, so that eased my anxiety some. I tapped it.
“Bailey . . .” he said. Like I’m some fucking kid. Like, “Bailey, I’m warning you.”
I fucking tapped that fucking pen all over my fucking desk.
He snatched it.
“What the fuck!” I yelled.
And then he scooped up all my pens and walked off.
“Motherfucker,” I spat, and went after him.
He glanced behind his shoulder and saw me coming. He quickened his pace. I marched right along, ready to catch up to him and give him an earful about the proper way to cope with my urges. He rounded the corner and disappeared into the copy room. I burst in and let fly.
“You’re not supposed to take my pens!” I shouted.
He came at me, slamming me up against the door, and kissing me hard.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he said into my mouth.
Well, this was confusing.
“You and your fucking pens and the tapping and . . . oh my God . . .” He sucked my neck, then bit me. I cried out. He silenced me with his mouth again, kissing me with an urgency that comes right before clothes are ripped off and very bad decisions are made.
“Give me my pens,” I said while his tongue assaulted my mouth. It was garbled, but he knew what I asked for.
“Beg me,” he replied, feeling me up like a horny teenager. He was so rough that I feared a button would pop off.
“You ass,” I replied.
He bruised my lips—biting, sucking—and I pushed against him with all my might. It was useless. Reece was strong. Too strong. I realized suddenly that he was in complete control. Control of my body as he pinned me against the door. Control of my mind as he withheld my pens. Control of my heart as he kissed me passionately, making me ache for all of him—his body between my legs, muscles holding me down, driving into me, driving me to delirium.
He pushed me all around that copy room—up against the file cabinet, on top of the copier, spreading my legs and touching me while he buried his face in my chest. And then he pulled me off the copier and bent me over.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned.
“Oh, I’m doing it! Consequences be damned!” he roared and smacked my ass.
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t get “Consequences be damned!” out of my head. My laughter evidently encouraged him because he spanked me again. And a few additional times for good measure.
And then he was gone. Just like that. I stood up and turned around carefully, dazed as he stared at me, feet away, hand outstretched, offering me my pens. I didn’t know if it was a game, so I didn’t immediately reach for them. I touched my swollen lips instead, tentatively fingering the tender flesh, wondering how his kisses could hurt so much and feel so good at the same time.
“I love you,” he said. “This couldn’t be a dumber place and time to tell you, I know. But, God, Bailey. I love you.” He paused. “I love you.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Take your pens,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I stole them. I’m sure I did everything wrong. I’m sure that’s not the way you deal with someone’s OCD.”
“It’s not,” I said. “You were supposed to talk the pen out of my hand and me off the ledge.” I smiled at him. He smiled back. “You were supposed to tell me that I’m stronger than my urges.”
He nodded.
“And that I’m in control of my destiny,” I went on.
“Man, I really fucked that up,” he replied, pushing a hand through his hair.
I giggled. “Yeah, you did.”
We were silent for a moment, shuffling our feet like we did that day in the hallway when he ran into me and accidentally knocked me down.
“Reece?”
He looked up. “Hmm?”
“I love you, too.”
His eyes went wide, and then he narrowed them suspiciously.
“You’re just saying that because you think you have to.”
“Not true,” I countered. “I do love you. I knew when I stood outside the office door looking at you. I knew when the urge to be next to you overrode my 7:58 A.M. ritual. That’s why I didn’t wait. I couldn’t see your face and not be in the same room as you.”
“Wow.”
“Too much?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s . . . it’s just that no one’s ever wanted me.” He caught himself. “That much! I meant that no one’s ever wanted me that much.”
“Too much?” I asked again.
“It’s not too much at all. I love it,” he replied.
I relaxed. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“I’m sorry for biting your neck,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Wasn’t it too much?” he asked.
I shook my head.
A smile crept along his face.
“However,” I continued, “we probably shouldn’t make out at the office anymore.”
“Good idea,” Reece said.
We checked each other over—I wiped lipstick off the corner of Reece’s mouth, and he helped me smooth my hair—and then we exited the copy room.
We carefully avoided each other for the remainder of the day. I fielded questions from Marjorie while Reece endured an intense interrogation from Christopher. We relayed our individual conversations that evening over dinner.
“Well, it’s official,” I said. “The entire office will know by Wednesday.”
“Chris won’t say anything,” Reece said.
“No, but Marjorie and Patricia will.” I scowled. “Patricia’s worse than Marjorie.”
“Look, I think people will discuss it for about two seconds and then move on,” Reece replied. He dumped a large helping of pasta on my plate.
“Reece, I can’t eat all of this,” I said.
“You know I’ll finish what you don’t.”
We sat at my table—only my table so far—and I decided to bring it up.
“Reece?”
“Hmm?”
“We’ve been dating for weeks now,” I began, “and we’ve even exchanged the coveted ‘I love you.’”
“Uh huh.” He took a sip of wine.
“So why haven’t you invited me to your place?” I asked.
He paused. I waited.
“Well, I guess I didn’t think about it because there’s not much there,” he said. “Just a bed and a cou
ch. Your place is so much more inviting.”
“That’s really the reason?”
“Truly. My place isn’t anything special. I mean, you can come over whenever you want, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”
I thought that was peculiar.
“Why wouldn’t I like it?”
He thought for a moment. “It’s lonely.”
I bit into my garlic bread and chewed thoughtfully. I could tell he felt the need to explain further.
“I’m just there by myself. I was gonna move in with my friend, Camden, but then I decided that’s stupid—rooming together at thirty-two.”
I nodded. “When did you meet Camden?”
“Oh, he’s a childhood friend. He moved here about three years ago, convinced me to move down when he heard about an opening at our firm. He kind of knows Chris. By association, I guess.”
“Where did you guys grow up?”
“Baltimore,” Reece replied.
“So that accounts for the slight accent,” I said, sipping my wine.
“It thickens up when I’ve had a few,” he replied.
I studied his face. “You say ‘Yous guys,’ don’t you?”
He grinned. “When I’m drunk, yeah.”
I recapped. “So, Camden moved here, and then you moved here in June?”
“July.”
“And you basically hang out with Camden and Chris?”
“Only guys I know.”
“And your family is still in Baltimore?”
Reece averted his eyes. “Yeah.”
Sounded like a complete lie, but why would someone lie about where his family lives? It was a little weird, but I dismissed it for now.
“Sisters? Brothers?” I couldn’t believe I was only just now asking.
“Nope.”
“Was that lonely?”
Reece shook his head. “Okay, Nosy, my turn. How do I be a better boyfriend to you with your OCD?”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“Well?” Reece prodded.
I scratched my head. “Umm, no one’s ever asked me that.”
“Okay.” He smiled and waited.
“I . . . you . . . so you’re my boyfriend?” I asked. “Like officially speaking?”
“Yes. How could you not know that?” he replied. “I told you I love you. Of course I’m your boyfriend.”
The instant giddiness consumed my heart and made me feel like a seventeen-year-old all over again. It was ridiculous. And amazing. And alarming. I realized not even Brian made me feel giddy. What had I been missing? Why couldn’t this man have moved to Wilmington twelve years ago?
“You said you love me,” I said suddenly.
Reece furrowed his brow. “I do.”
“We haven’t even done it.”
“I wasn’t aware that was a prerequisite.”
I bit my lip. “It’s not. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You’re right. I do,” I said. “It’s just that sex is usually a factor in the ‘I love you’ decision-making process.”
“Is it?”
I shrugged.
“How can you look like you jumped off the cover of some bubblegum retro teen magazine and be so jaded?”
I laughed. “Stop making me feel like a goody-goody.”
“And then you say things like ‘floosy’ and ‘goody-goody,’ and I just wanna tie you to the bed and violate you in all kinds of inappropriate ways.”
I choked on my pasta. “What?”
“Bailey, it’s truth time.”
“Uh oh,” I replied, wiping my mouth. I gulped down the rest of my wine. Reece poured me another glass.
“Well, you brought up sex.” He took another bite of pasta and watched my face as he chewed. He took his time, and once he swallowed, he brought the wine glass to his lips slowly and drank.
“Just ask me already!” I cried.
He leaned back in his chair, cradling the glass in his hand. “Have you ever been tied up?”
“Oh my God! I’m so not telling you anything about my sex life.”
“Hey, I only ask because you look like you jumped off the cover of a bubblegum retro teen magazine.”
“You said that already. And how far back are we talking anyway?” I asked.
“Nineteen-fifties, for sure. The ponytail—” (I immediately yanked the hairband from my head and let my hair tumble about my shoulders.) “—the pearl earrings—” (Took those out.) “—that little matchy-matchy shirt you’ve got on—” (I unbuttoned it quickly and threw it on the floor) “—that bra you’re wearing—” (My hands automatically went to the back clasp.)
“Hey, wait a minute!” I said, and threw my napkin at his head. He laughed.
“How epic would it have been to get you completely naked, huh?” he asked.
I laughed, too, and then I cleared my throat.
“I wanna know all the dirty things you’ve done,” Reece said. “Is that bad?”
I blushed and hung my head. “Reece . . .”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Why would you want to know those things? They happened with other guys.”
“So what? I have an imagination. Not hard to insert myself into the picture and knock the joker out.”
I giggled.
“You’re giggling because I used the word ‘insert,’ and that’s precisely what I meant to do,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
I laughed harder.
Reece sighed. “Fine. You don’t wanna tell me? Then you have to show me.”
My eyes went wide. “Really?”
“I’m ready if you are,” he replied. He watched my face carefully.
I blushed and averted my eyes. I wasn’t exactly prepared for this. I realized my bra and panties didn’t match. My sheets hadn’t been washed in five days. I was rocking major garlic breath.
“I ate the garlic bread, too, you know,” Reece said.
I looked at him, shocked. “How did you know I was thinking that?!”
“Had a hunch,” he replied.
“You’re amazing,” I breathed.
“So are you.” He paused. “So what do you think?”
I nodded consent, and he flashed a brilliant smile.
“My panties don’t match,” I blurted.
“I love that. It’s so . . . out of control.”
“My sheets are dirty.”
“I wanna smell ‘em.”
I buried my face in my hands and cracked up. And then I spread my fingers, peeking through the cracks.
“Shy?” he asked.
I nodded, still covering my face.
“I’m glad. I want you to be shy.”
I dropped my hands. “Why?”
“Because if you acted like a floosy, I just couldn’t respect you.”
I smirked. “Do you joke all the time?”
“No, not all the time,” he replied, and his face turned serious. “What’s about to happen in there?”—He pointed to the back of the house—“That’s no joke.”
I stood up and took his hand, leading him to my bedroom. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, but it was the first time we’d be naked together in it. I was glad for the wine I drank. It calmed my nerves and gave me the courage to let him love me.
***
Reece sat down beside her on the edge of the bed and took her hand. It was clammy, and he moved his fingers to the inside of her wrist, feeling the rapid beating of her heart.
“It’s been a while,” she confessed. “Don’t judge me.”
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
“Forget about that. Forget about the past. This is us, here and now, and it’s gonna be amazing,” Reece said.
She lifted her face to him, offering her lips, and he pressed his mouth to them, kissing her deeply, mingling their garlic tongues.
“You taste good,” he said into her mouth.
“So do you,” she replied, and climbed int
o his lap, straddling his hips.
She pushed him gently on his back, and it felt natural for him to take hold of her hips. He waited, anticipation coursing through his veins with the strength and pull of an undertow. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, pulling it away from her body. She folded it and placed it on the bed, catching sight of his smile.
“I’m nervous,” she explained.
“Will you fold your pants, too?” he asked.
“I may. Would that be weird?” she replied.
He shook his head. “I’ll fold your pants. I’ll fold your pants and eat you out at the same time.”
“Man, you’re good,” she said, as she moved his hands from her hips to her breasts.
He massaged them gently, watching her face and listening to the soft cries that escaped her lips. Her nipples grew hard under his palms, and he moved aside his hands to look at them. A rosy tan—little hard beach pebbles—and he fantasized about making love to her on the shore, her body cradled in the soft sand where it belonged.
He needed his mouth on her. He rolled her onto her back and kissed down her neck to the dip between her breasts. He ran the tip of his nose over her nipple and listened to her hiss. She buried her fingers in his hair, urging him to put his mouth on her, and he complied, drawing her nipple between his lips. He swirled his tongue. She moaned. He sucked gently. She bucked. He grabbed her hands and clasped them above her head, trapped in his large palm. She squirmed, trying to break free, and he bit her nipple.
“Ow!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
She shuddered and gasped as he licked her nipples, teasing them to hard points, then drawing back to watch them turn velvety soft again.
“Pretty nipples,” he said. “Pretty breasts.”
Her breathing turned shallow.
“Pretty arms and neck and collarbone,” he went on. “Pretty little thing.”
“Reece . . .”
He cocked his head and looked into her eyes.
“I bet you have a pretty little pussy, too.”
She turned her face out of embarrassment.
“Let’s find out,” he said, and kissed the tip of her nose.
He unbuttoned her pants and slid them down, catching sight of her mismatched panties. They were green boy shorts. The bra she’d been wearing was pink.
“Green and pink complement each other,” Reece said.
She smiled. “You don’t get it.”