Page 53 of Cohen's Control

“Can you take my sandals off?”

Red-rimmed, hazy eyes meet mine and then his hands are on my foot, sliding the sandal free. He repeats on the other side and rests his hands between his knees, waiting.

“I need to know, Cohen.”

His swallow is so thick, it pains me. I feel his fear, I feel his insecurity. Everything he’s feeling radiates off him, filling my pores, sinking into my heart.

“We’ll bare ourselves to each other, and we’ll feel better. We won’t be stuck in limbo anymore. Do you believe that, Cohen?”

I lean forward, stroking my hand through his soft hair, appreciating how his eyes close for a moment to savor the touch. “Yes,” he says finally when I take my hand away.

I stroke my palm down his face, shivers running up my arm at the coarse stubble growing. He’s almost always clean shaven, and he came over here out of the shower, dripping wet.

He’s going through something, same as me, the only difference is, he hasn’t worn it on his sleeve the way I have. He’s silently suffered, but no more. No. Fucking. More.

I’ll have to start. To show him there is room to grow on the other side of discomfort, but we have to traipse through it to get there.

“Two broken pieces can come together. We just need to be aware of each other's sharp edges.”

My thumb slides between his lips, and I find his mouth wet and warm. He turns his head, kissing my hand as I pull my thumb from his mouth. My belly rumbles with need, because despite being on the precipice of tearing down emotional walls, I still want him. In fact, I want him more and more each passing day.

That’s where I start.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make love to you right away, Cohen, and that’s one reason I’ve told myself we’re only friends. Because I don’t know that I can give you what a partner needs, romantically, for a while.”

He reaches out, kneading the tops of my feet. “I understand. And because of that, I’d prefer it if you led. Show me, tell me, make me aware of exactly what you want and need.”

“You won’t get tired of never being able to act off impulse? You won’t hate being told when and where?”

He blinks at me, grooves of confusion vertical on his forehead. “I want to make you happy in all ways, Scarlett. And I want you to feel safe with me.”

“One day I could be normal again. One day you could take control, but I can’t promise that. Can you be with me if I can’t promise that?” I make my voice strong despite the fear rattling in my diaphragm. It’s a big ask, and I would understand if he can’t do it.

His palms come to one ankle, cupping it, sliding up my calf, pushing my sweats up. His big, warm hands feel so good on my body. “You are normal,” he says, “and I don’t need to control sex to be happy, Scarlett.” He looks at where his hands are on my body, and it takes everything I have to not look at his naked groin. I want to, I want to see him fully, to know every inch of him.

Not right now.

“My shut down is a mental block manifested in the physical,” I explain, paraphrasing Dr. Evans’ smarter words.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

I nudge him back by the shoulder, and get to my feet. “Take my pants off,” I tell him, and watch as his lean arms lift, and his solid fingers wrap my waistband and start to tug. His knuckles grazing my inner thighs drive me wild, but I hold it all in, every moan, every shudder, everything.

Sinking back into the couch, I watch as Cohen folds my sweats and sets them on top of my sandals, carefully aside.

“It means that while despicable things happened to me at Jizz, I recognize that those things were at the hands of Pete. What Pete did to me emotionally has created a physical block, where I’m fearful of intimacy because of what he put me through.” I trace the lobe of his ear, and heat slides down my spine like water as he traps my hand between his face and shoulder, soaking up my touch, keeping me there.

Cohen’s face is etched with concern as he blinks up at me, and I watch him drop his palms to my knees, running them up and down my calves. It’s simple but intimate. Yet he doesn’t interrupt me with his own story, so I continue, hopeful I’m nudging him closer.

“I wanted to have a baby,” I whisper, and his head snaps up, eyes dancing between mine, pupils wide, the blue dark like a deep sea. “I wanted to be a mother as much as I wanted to be a programmer. And when we moved in together Pete assured me I could have both of those things, that he would give me those things.”

He’s captivated by my words, or me, I’m not sure which. But he blinks up at me, his hands motionless on my knees. “As time went on it was always later. After. Soon.”

He releases my hand from his face, straightening his neck. I place my hand on his shoulder, and the heat of his skin flutters between my thighs.

“When things were bad on set I’d threaten to report him for what he made the actors do to me. For the scenes he’d shoot without my consent, knowing if I was bound and gagged, I couldn’t do anything.” I take a breath, realizing my hands are now trembling, I place my other hand on his shoulder.

He reaches up and drops his hands over mine, and my trembling ceases. His focus pierces me. “He’d gaslight me. Tell me it made a more powerful scene if I didn’t expect it, if I went outside my comfort zone. Then he’d say, if you report me, who will father your baby? Who will get you back into school?”

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