Obsessive Compulsion (4 page)

The corner of his mouth ticks. “What do you
think so far?”

“Well,” I lean back a bit, trying to loosen
up. “This storeroom sure is something.”

He snorts. I’m really getting addicted to
the way he does that. “And this bench,” I continue, trying to steer
the momentum of the conversation, “is interesting. I saw more of
them out in the club room.”

His eyes focus on my fingers as they toy
with one of the metal loops anchored to the front. “We also have
one in every guest room,” he says. “It’s called a restraining
bench. The loop in your fingers, for example, is used to restrain
someone with rope or chain. The bench is wide enough to accommodate
someone laying down or kneeling, and the back rest is at a
particular height that enables being bent over.”

“I see,” and I do.

I can suddenly picture several scenarios
with Ian, rope and my sketch pad. Why do I want to draw this man so
badly? The outfit he’s wearing isn’t helping to temper my
imagination. Black boots, black leather pants, a black vest and a
black collar. No shirt, giving me a full visual of his lean
muscles. He’s still wearing one leather glove.

“Twitch,” I start, then stop. I
shouldn’t.

“Yes, Miss Scarlet?”

I swallow. I
really
shouldn’t. “I
want you to close your eyes.”

His eyes go wide and I think about laughing
off my request, then he nods once and complies. I stare at him for
a long moment, watching him breathe. His chest moves, his jaw
twitches and his lips spread minutely apart.

I lean in, kiss those gentle lips for a
split second then back away. He inhales sharply but doesn’t move.
Just when I’m about to apologize, his lips form words that make me
smile.

“Thank you, Miss Scarlet.”

His eyes remain closed, so I lean in and do
it again. I linger my lips against his a little bit longer this
time then pull away and wait. Again, he goes quiet for a moment
then thanks me. We repeat this dance more times than I care to
count. Sometimes my kiss is as quick as I can make it, no more than
a tiny peck. Other times, I hold my lips against his, waiting for a
reaction.

Each time, he thanks me. It drives me to
keep trying, to be patient and to give him a chance to respond. I
want to feel him kissing me back.

Finally, just as I’m about to pull away
again, his lips move against mine. We both inhale at the same time,
as if it surprises us both. I think, maybe, it does.

This time, as I pull away, I say it first.
“Thank you, Twitch.”

The corners of his mouth curl into a smile
as his long eyelashes flutter open. This man is so beautiful. He
stares at me and I can’t help but want to go further.

I’m not a complete innocent when it comes to
BDSM and concepts like safe-words, but I’ve never done it in this
kind of organized, lifestyle-club environment. I’ve been tied up
before, and I’ve also done the tying, but it was innocent play.
This is the real deal.

I want something real – the real trust that
Brandon and Victoria both said was the most important thing. I want
to be trusted. I want Ian to trust me. “What’s your word,
sweetie?”

He blinks at me then inhales deeply as
understanding sets in. “I don’t have one of my own, Miss
Scarlet…”

As his words trail off, I force myself not
to frown. I don’t want to give him some sympathetic look. I don’t
want him to think this is being done out of pity.

Brandon told me Ian never really
participates, and Victoria gave me warnings, too. Warnings that
were now whispering in the back of my head.
It’s too soon. You
shouldn’t
. But damn me, he’s looking at me with an unhidden
appreciation in his watercolor eyes, and I can’t resist.

“
Fresco
will be our word,” I offer.
“Yours and mine.”

“Fresco,” he whispers, testing out the
word.

I hope he doesn’t ask why I chose that word.
I’m a bit shocked it came out, but I know it fits.

Frescos, like the ones I help restore in
Italy, hold a special place in my heart. They’re beautiful works of
art, often hidden under layers caused by years of neglect. I love
scraping away each layer, delicately revealing the masterpieces
underneath. Joyful awe often lingers in my heart at the hidden
treasure I find. My brain has associated that word with Ian and
there’s no taking it back now.

“Fresco,” he repeats again. “I like it, Miss
Scarlet.”

I stand, his eyes following me. I make a
small circuit around the store room, surveying the open boxes of
equipment, contraceptives, and rope. My eyes linger on the box of
black nylon rope.

I should get us out of this storeroom.
“Would you like to go back to the club?”

“Not really, Miss Scarlet,” his response
makes me smile.

“You like it in here, away from the crowd?”
I ask, my hand now inside the box, fingering the rope. The texture
calls to me, filling my head with ideas.

“I like it in here, with you, Miss
Scarlet.”

My head snaps up and I stare at him, my
fingers curling around a bundle of rope. I should be getting us
both out of here,
now
. Damn my lack of restraint.

Pulling the rope from the box, I watch as
his gaze flicks to it and widens. His hazel eyes are big and round,
the vivid colors in them stunning me. I need to get this man into
my art studio.

I
want
this man.

The thought chokes my breath and empowers my
movements at the same time. Standing in front of him, I present the
rope and ask a question I’m hoping he’ll say yes to, while that
voice in the back of my head is begging him to say no because it’s
all happening way too soon.

“Would you like to play a game, Twitch?”

Yes
. God, yes!

This can’t possibly be happening. I’m still
recovering from the kissing, and now she’s presenting rope to me?
Those kisses… that was incredible.

She was so patient. It was like she
knew
exactly what I needed. Patience. Persistence. And now
she wants to play a game? I think I might implode.

“Yes, Miss Scarlet. I’d like that very
much.” It surprises me how calmly that comes out.

Her lips smile, and all my nerves are at
full attention. Please, just let me keep it together enough to
enjoy this. How long has it been since I’ve been able to enjoy
anything? What does she have in mind? Can I really do this? Why is
that box over there sideways?

Fuck
. Focus, Rider.

“I’m gonna tie your ankles, okay?” her
question regains my attention, the hint of her sweet country accent
sending my heart spiraling.

Is that okay? Are you kidding me? Fuck yes!
I swallow and force air into my lungs. “Yes, Miss Scarlet.”

My response pleases her, causing her smile
to widen and display a set a perfectly straight, white teeth
between her darkly painted crimson lips. Wait, do I have lipstick
on my lips now? Shit.

My hand fidgets against an urge to reach for
a wetnap, my jaw ticking as I fight it. Lipstick and wetnap are
forgotten the moment she grabs another bundle of rope from the box,
sets them on the floor next to my feet and then uses her hands to
slowly ease my knees apart. Oh, dear God, please be what I’m
thinking.

Not
that the box behind her is most
definitely sideways
and
mislabeled. The other thing. The
idea where she’s spreading my legs to get at what’s between
them.

Whoa there, Rider. This is Charlie. Yes,
she’s Miss Scarlet right now, but under that shiny leather, she’s
still Emma’s best friend. A friend that you were swearing off
touching not even two days ago. What happens when you leave this
room? What happens tomorrow? What happens if… no, when you mess
this up?

She’s still a Miss, not a trained Mistress.
I should be leading this.

Correction. I should be
ending
this
and getting an Assist, like Victoria or Brandon. I should be…

The rope pulls one ankle taught. My thighs
flex against it, testing the barrier, and she’s moving on to the
other ankle. It feels like we’re standing on the cusp of something
perfect.

I don’t want an Assist. I want this moment
to be ours and ours alone. Something we can share and experience
together. An experience that might build into something beyond
Friday night and beyond the walls of this club.

I listen to the sounds of tightening nylon
rope and the clacking metal restraining brackets, focusing my
efforts on keeping my breathing normal and my anxiety at a
manageable level. My other ankle becomes immobile, sending a spark
of panicked euphoria over my body. I can do this.

“Stand, please,” she requests and I comply,
my feet a little more than shoulder width apart. She’s left a
little slack in the ropes and I wonder if that’s due to design or
inexperience.

Rider, she has
no
experience! You
should be stopping this
now
.

I open my mouth, but the words catch in my
throat as she approaches me with a third bundle of rope. Maybe I
can teach her? I’m breaking so many of Brandon’s rules right now,
but Charlie is standing there with black nylon in her hands and a
smile on her lips. How could he expect me to deny this woman? How
could I possibly ask her to stop?

“Hands behind your back, please.”

“Yes, Miss Scarlet,” I reply immediately and
cross my wrists behind my back.

As she slowly binds my wrists with the rope,
I realize she hasn’t actually
touched
me once. She’s being
very careful to avoid skin to skin contact. She’s being so very
accommodating and I haven’t even had to tell her how or why.

Brandon and Emma must have had the full talk
with her. I’m both grateful and ashamed. I’m ashamed because if I
was normal, such a talk wouldn’t be necessary.

She finishes tying my wrists and steps away,
examining me. “Are you good, Twitch?”

I test the tension against my wrists. It’s a
little tight, but it’s not uncomfortable. Technically, I should ask
her to retie it, but technicality has flown out the storeroom’s
non-existent window. “Yes. Thank you, Miss Scarlet.”

“Please sit,” she requests and my knees
buckle automatically, like I’m a puppet to her voice.

Who am I kidding? I’m totally her puppet,
and I like it. I’m sure I’d get up and do a damn jig right now if
she asked me to, with ankles and wrists still tied.

I’m keeping my calm expression while my
insides explode. Saul told me once that I’m like a volcano. You
only get to see the small bit that forms a gentle looking mountain.
It’s the hidden part below that you have to watch out for – the
part that’s brewing a cauldron of emotions. The part that has the
potential to take out an entire village when it erupts.

It’s happened maybe five times in my life –
where I reached the eruption point. Saul and the others were there
the last time. I was afraid it would end our friendship. I didn’t
tell them it had only been a
minor
blow out.

“I’m gonna blindfold you,” Charlie’s voice
rolls over me, and the lava stirs.

“Yes, Miss Scarlet,” I whisper past my
simmering emotions. I’m anxious, like the jitters you may
experience before jumping off a building. You’re anticipating the
fall and the landing, but part of you is looking forward to the way
down. The freedom. The peace. Flying.

My heart is certainly flying, beating a
million miles a minute as I feel Charlie wrapping the roll of gauze
around my closed eyes. My lip quirks up in a smirk at her inventive
nature. She’s a true artist. Creative. I can’t help but wonder what
she has planned for this game we’re playing.

The blindfold, however, does something
unexpected. I can’t see her anymore. I can’t focus on her eyes or
her hair.

I can, however, focus on the way the rope
around my wrist is a little too tight and how the cut on my hand is
stinging a bit. It’s too quiet, and now I’m back to thinking about
my toaster which I most definitively left plugged in. Fuck. I’m
going to arrive home tomorrow to a burnt down apartment, I just
know it.

I need to get up. I need to get out. I need
to get home and unplug the toaster and make sure I locked my damn
door!

As she moves my leather vest back over my
shoulders, her fingers brush my skin. It startles me and I pull
away with a small shiver. “Mistress?” I slip the word out, knowing
it’s wrong. But the thought of it, of her being mine, calms me.

“It’s okay, Twitch,” her voice calms me
further. “I’m here. I want to play a game, but you know the word to
say when you don’t want to play anymore, right?”

I swallow. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Fuck my damn toaster.
Let it burn.
Let it all fucking burn.

“Yes, Mistress,” I repeat my mistake, but I
can’t take it back now. It’s implanted in my brain. Another
obsession.

I can’t see what her reaction is to that
word, but I can hear a slight quiver in her voice that begs me to
follow the rules and end this. “I’m gonna draw something on your
skin, Twitch, and I want you to tell me what it is.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I keep right on fucking
things up, but the idea of her finger on my skin is a tempting
demon. I involuntarily flinch at the first tap of her fingertip on
the center of my chest, but I inhale against it and force myself to
remain still. She draws a single, short line then stops and pulls
away. “A line?”

“Very good,” she confirms my answer then
places a quick peck on my lips as a reward.

God, I love this game. Next, she draws a
cross and again rewards me with a simple kiss, barely a brush of
her lips against mine. Her next tease is an ‘X’ that causes her
fingers to drag lightly over each nipple. It makes me tremble and I
almost moan. Her fingers are like fire on my skin, making my nerves
scream in deliciously destructive delight.