Page 111 of Control Freak
The night before, we’d watched a movie on my laptop in bed. Held hands as we’d done many times by now. When it was over, Shiloh had given me a brief kiss good night. Not much more than a peck.
I’d deepened the kiss and felt him sigh and open for me. The way Shiloh melted and let me take charge was perfect.
I moved my mouth to the corner of his lips, then his jaw and neck, making him shiver. It was easier for me to explore with my mouth than with my hands.
Still, I wanted more.
I carefully cupped his shoulder with my hand. I’d touched him a couple of times, not much, but it was getting more comfortable. “Maybe we could try something new.”
Shiloh pulled back.
“Actually, I’m tired.” His smile was fragile. “Let’s just call it a night.”
“I’m not trying to force it,” I said quickly. “I promise.”
“I know.” He sighed and shook his head. “I just…don’t feel ready. I really am tired.”
I’d nodded, throat tight, as he turned over and got comfortable under the blankets. I put a pillow between us, resenting with my every fiber the need to do so. I’d moved out of the sleeping bag, and we’d held hands and kissed.
Hell, I’d blown him and touched him. I felt ready to touch him more. I could sense that barrier thinning, becoming easier to push through, even if it was still there.
But outside of holding my hand, he’d only ever touched me over my clothing. Affectionate but nonsexual touches, similar to the ones I allowed my brothers in exposure therapy.
Never on my bare skin. Never while we were intimate.
I couldn’t seem to get past that limit, even if Shiloh now wasn’t afraid of triggering me, which he obviously was. I couldn’t risk us rolling into each other in the night. If I lost it again, Shiloh really might decide this was all too much for him, regardless of how much he loved me.
So the pillow went between us, and when I woke the next morning, Shiloh was already up and in the shower. We went through our normal routine, and Shiloh was as loving as ever, holding my hand in the car and kissing me goodbye.
But I’d broken his trust, and I wasn’t sure how to get us moving forward again. I’d happily wait it out, even if it took weeks or months, but I suspected this might be a situation where we needed to get back on the horse before it became a larger fear.
So when Cyrus called to remind me about my tattoo session on Monday, it made me remember what Dr. Levy had suggested when I first began exposure therapy.
That I work on it in a controlled environment where I could feel safe. That I set limits to protect how much exposure I had so that I would know through the entire experience where it would start and where it would end.
That’s what Shiloh needed now. And maybe it was a way to finally get past this limit of mine, as well.
When I arrived at the grade school to pick him up, Shiloh was smiling when he opened the door and slid into the seat beside me.
“Hey, handsome. How’s your day going?”
“Good,” I answered. “Actually, I was wondering if you minded taking a detour before we go home.”
“Detour where?”
“I’ve got a tattoo scheduled. I was thinking, um, you could come along?”
He looked surprised. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds interesting. I thought tattoo sessions were kind of hard for you.”
“They’re challenging,” I said carefully, “but they’re good for me.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”
I pulled away from the curb. “I’ve already talked to Cyrus, and I’d like you to participate.”
“What do you mean? I don’t know how to tattoo anyone.”
“Not like that. Just, you know, be his hands when he needs to touch me. To reposition or, um, whatever.”
