Page 55 of Headstrong Like Us
I skip over the quip I could make and stay serious. “Then you’re more of a strict bottom, and I’ll enjoy fucking you until I die.”
He breathes like he’s running a backbreaking marathon. “You make it sound so damn simple.”
“It is.”
“It’s not to me.” His face contorts, his eyes on mine. “My mom is a sex addict, and I’ll never know if that makes me one. What if the more I give up control, the more I’m actually heading there and spiraling, and I’m too lost to see it?”
I’m concerned he’ll never let himself relax again if this is his mentality. “Maximoff, it’s agoodthing that you feel comfortable enough to let go and partake in healthy shit that makes you feelgood. And I’m looking out for you, every fucking day. Every time we’re in bed.”
He inhales strongly. “I just…I hate that there’s fear in sex. The better it makes me feel while I let go, the more scared I get.” He winces, and it’s like a jackhammer to my ribcage.
I near him, and his eyes plead,come closer.
I cup the back of his head. “You don’t have to count.” My voice is a whisper. “You don’t need to obsess over this.”
A single tear rolls down his cheek. “I’m trying…” He swallows. “I’m trying to believe that.”
His biggest problem isn’t actually being a sex addict, I’ve been realizing. It’s the fear that one day he could become one. And this didn’t use to be an issue. I remember the day I asked him if he was worried about becoming a sex addict. His answer was a definitive, resoluteno.
Things changed.
He’s now with me. And he’s become comfortable enough to drop walls and be completely vulnerable, but with that vulnerability lies new fears.
If I have to spend each night reassuring him, I gladly will. These talks are something I’ve come to expect, and I care too much about Maximoff to let this shit fester.
“Better?” I ask.
Kitchen lights suddenly flip on, and we squint in the brightened room.
“Moffy?”
Shit.
I glance backwards at sharp-edged, amber eyes that cut between me and his son. Loren Hale just entered a tense moment that he’s not going to understand.
Maximoff rubs the tear streak off his face and unscrews his water bottle.
“Are you alright?” Lo asks him.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He swigs his water tensely, acting like nothing’s wrong. He’s shut down.
I grip the edge of the island counter.
Lo punctures me with a glare. “What happened?”
What I can’t say:don’t worry, Lo, your son is extremely paranoid of becoming a sex addict like his mom, and he needed reassurance that he’s okay.
Not only do I not love advertising our sex life to his parents, but his dad knowing just how deeply their addictions affect Maximoff will make him feel like shit.
“Stress,” I say vaguely.
Lo eyes his son again. “With the wedding?”
Maximoff swigs more water. “There’s just a lot going on, Dad.” He recaps the bottle. “We’re handling it.”
His dad is just wearing sweatpants, tired lines across his forehead.
I ask, “Did we wake you up?”
