Page 47 of Devoted

“I would, baby.” His voice was guttural. “I’d spend hours on my knees for you. I’d worship you until you couldn’t think about anything other than how I was making you feel. I’d fuck you until you couldn’t say anything apart from my name. Until you were screaming my name. Louder and louder. Until everyone on the street heard it, and knew exactly who was making you feel so good.”

“Zeke!” It wasn’t a scream, but it was close. My orgasm crashed through me, my body bowing off the chair. Cum flew everywhere; all over my torso, the floor, some even hit the back of the chair I was on.

His stuttered moan told me he’d come too. I tried to will my heart to slow, so that I could hear him over the heavy beating in my ears. I memorised each of his ragged breaths. Pictured how his chest must be rising and falling. Were his eyes glassy? Hooded? Closed? Was his release as explosive as mine? Had he covered himself in his mess?

I realised then that I’d never know. Unless we both changed our minds, this was the closest to Zeke that I’d ever be.

And it wasn’t enough. This had been one of the best experiences in my life, but now I felt…hollow. Unsatisfied. Zeke had made me come, but it had just opened up new doors to rooms I was forbidden to explore.

For some reason, even with Zeke still on the line, I felt lonelier than ever.

“That was amazing.” Zeke sounded slightly punch drunk. Clearly, I was alone in my spiral. “You doing okay?”

“Yep.” I forced brightness into my voice, giving a small chuckle. “Need to wash my hands though. Now that the fun has stopped, I’m suddenly aware of how sticky they are.”

“Oh,” Zeke said quietly. Could he tell something was off? “Can you keep me on the phone while you do that? I’m not ready to hang up yet.”

“Sure.” I got to my feet and made my way to the bathroom. Fortunately I knew the Bluetooth range stretched that far.

“Is the hand washing an OCD thing?”

I considered my answer as I squirted liberal amounts of antibacterial soap onto my hands. “Um, kind of. It’s definitely a compulsion for me. If I’ve handled raw meat or been somewhere with germs, I’ll wash them repeatedly.”

“What thought leads to that?” Zeke’s question was curious, not judgemental. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“I don’t mind.” I shut off the tap, twisting to dry my hands properly. “I think that if I don’t wash my hands, I’ll spread illness either to myself or others.”

“And washing your hands once stops that thought?”

“No.” I laughed, wetting a cloth and taking it through to the bedroom to clean up the rest of the mess I’d made. “I have to wash them at least three times.”

“Why three?”

“Fuck knows. My brain just decided it likes that number. Sometimes though, if I’m having a bad day, I’ll wash them more than that. I use really hot water then too, just to make sure they’re really clean.”

Zeke made a sympathetic clucking noise. “That must be rough on your skin.”

I glanced down at my cracked knuckles ruefully. “You’ve got no idea.”

“I take it you’re not a big hand shaker then?”

I shuddered. “Oh absolutely not. I’ll go out of my way to not touch anyone unless I’m comfortable with them.”

“Like your partners?”

I swallowed around the sudden lump around my throat. “I haven’t had many of them but…yeah. If I feel comfortable, my OCD doesn’t kick in with them. In fact, I’m a bit touch-needy, if that’s a thing. Touch can ground me, especially if everything else is spiralling out of my control.”

Zeke was quiet for a minute. I started to panic, thinking maybe he was going to suggest meeting, but he went a different direction entirely. “You can’t get ill from semen though, so this wasn’t OCD related? Just usual hygiene?”

I finished cleaning up and discarded the cloth in the washing basket. “I mean, yeah. I’d hope anyone would wash their hands after sex, but it’s slightly more than that. Feeling the stickiness, it’s a sensory thing. Once I realise it’s there, I can’t do anything else until I’ve cleaned it off. It’s the same with a variety of different textures.”

“But it wasn’t an issue until after you’d come.”

I smiled wryly. “Let’s just say it helps if I’m distracted.”

“Noted,” Zeke said. “If Sam’s having a bad day, distract him with touch and sex.”

I collapsed back on my bed. “You say that like you’re hoping we will meet one day.”

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