We fell silent as I contemplated this revelation. Reece was a fixer. He liked to fix things. Is that why he was dating me? He saw my OCD as a project? I shuddered at the thought. If it was really a project he was after, then the “I love you” didn’t count. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a way to weasel himself into my life, take over, and starting “correcting.”
I thought about our love-making. I thought about the control he wielded in bed. I thought it was sexy at first, but maybe it meant something else entirely. Maybe it was Reece exerting power over me—turning me into what he wanted. The girlfriend he never had. It was easy for him. I was compliant. I was changing—ignoring my rituals. Fighting my tics. But that’s good, right? Those are good things. So why was I freaking out? Oh my God, I was really freaking out.
“Bailey?” Reece asked carefully. He must have seen the panic in my eyes.
“I’m not a project!” I screamed. I pushed past him for the living room, and he caught my arm.
“Where the hell did that come from?” he asked.
“You . . . you fix things. You wanna fix me. That’s why you’re dating me, right? You wanna fix my OCD. You wanna—”
“Stop.”
“—make me into some new person. You wanna—”
“Stop it, Bailey.”
“—change me. You don’t really love me. You just said that—”
“I said stop!” he shouted, shaking me.
I shut my mouth. I tried to focus on my breathing—without counting—but it wasn’t working.
“Don’t you ever say again that I don’t love you. I’m not here to fix you. I have no desire to change you. Help you manage your condition? Yes. But you told me I was supposed to do that.”
I remained silent.
“I would have never pursued you with the intention of changing you. Why would I bother? Seems like a lot of work if you ask me.”
I listened intently.
“I fell in love with you because of you. I like your quirky ways. You know how many times I got myself off thinking about your ‘just so’ ponytail? You know how fucking weird that is?”
I cracked a smile.
“I stole all your pens that morning because I wanted you to come after me and scream at me. I wanted an excuse to act on my weird attraction to your weird tics.”
I laughed.
“Camden said the most ridiculous and inappropriate thing to me a long time ago when I told him I was attracted to you,” Reece said.
“Oh yeah?”
He nodded. “He told me not to get involved with you because people with OCD are hard to handle. Hard to date. Hard to live with.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t be upset with that advice. It was good advice.
“He . . . gave me examples.” Reece scratched his stubble and cleared his throat.
“Do share,” I encouraged.
“He said you may be one of those who counts the number of times you bounce up and down on my dick during sex.” He paused, staring at me, waiting for my reaction.
I clapped a hand over my mouth to hide the grin. “What an idiot,” I mumbled.
“I know. But it got me thinking. All night I thought about you doing that. It turned me on. Are you hearing what I’m saying to you? I got turned on thinking about you counting out loud!”
“You’re as freaking weird as I am,” I noted.
“I know, right?! Bailey, if you think I wanna fix you, you’re dead wrong. I don’t even wanna help you manage this thing you’ve got going on. I’m only doing it because I know it’s the right thing to do, but I’d much rather you go tic-ing all over my heart and brain.”
“You selfish bastard,” I replied, but the flattery was evident on my face. I blushed and grinned.
“I know it.”
“You wanna do it right here on the floor and listen as I count, don’t you?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“You’re so bad,” I whispered.
“Do you forgive me for it?”
I slid my arms around his waist. “I’ll do something even better.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nodded and kissed him tenderly. And then I unbuckled his belt.
“Bailey, I was kidding,” he said, but he made no move to stop me.
“Bullshit, you were kidding,” I replied, and tugged his jeans down his legs. His boxers went next, and I stared at his hard penis, suppressing the urge to giggle about how it got that way. Counting. For Christ’s sake. I couldn’t have found a better boyfriend.
“I’m gonna blow you so hard,” I said, gazing up at him. “And you’re gonna count the strokes.”
“Me?”
“Well, I can’t very well do it with my mouth full,” I replied. “This is your twisted game, mister. Start counting.”
I slid my mouth over his shaft, listening as he hissed.
“One.”
I pulled away and stuck out my tongue, running it softly along the underside of his penis, all the way to the head, swirling it around the tip and tasting the saltiness of his precome.
“I’m confused,” he breathed. “Is that two?”
I ignored him and took him in my mouth again, relaxing my throat and pushing my face farther down, down, down until he was almost completely in.
“Fuck me,” he moaned.
I pulled back. “I don’t hear you counting.”
“I don’t know what number we’re on,” he said, holding my head and pushing his dick against my lips. “Just suck my cock.”
“Count,” I demanded, and he shoved his penis in my mouth. I squealed.
“I’ll count, you little cocktease.” He pumped his dick in my mouth, counting each stroke out loud, holding my head as I moaned and pushed against his thighs. I really wasn’t trying to get away. I just wanted him to think I was.
He pulled out suddenly and waddled to the dresser. He took out a tie and turned to me.
“I’m taking over this entire operation,” he said.
I wanted him to. I wanted to be trussed up with all his ties. I couldn’t make sense of the freedom I felt when I let go and let him control me.
He shed his pants and underwear, then hauled me off the floor. He sat down on the bed and turned me around, securing my wrists behind my back with his tie.
“I never see you wear ties at work,” I said.
“It’s not really a thing anymore. Work culture’s changed. Now it’s all about the unbuttoned collar and suit jacket,” he explained, pulling the knot tighter. He spun me around. “I wanna look at your ass while you blow me.”
I nodded, and he unbuttoned my jeans, pushing them down my legs and instructing me to step out of them. I waited for further orders.
“You’ve got everyone fooled but me,” he said thoughtfully, staring at my red panties.