That's when her eyes met mine and her face softened in the dark room. The little bit of light from above danced on her face enough for me to see an expression that almost looked worried. I didn't understand it; why was she looking at me that way? Why was she staring at me as if I had been the one to push her away?
And then I felt it … the sticky layer of dew on my neck. Once I was aware of that, my brain became aware of everything else-the spot on my shirt between my shoulder blades that felt wet and stuck to my back, the short, desperate gasps of air, and the dark room that seemed darker than before.
Ivy grabbed my face and started talking, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. Her lips were moving but the words were drowned out by the muted music around us. She must've sensed my confusion because she started to motion with her hands and mouth to breathe. I repeated what she was doing, taking in deep breaths and slowly feeling myself calm down.
That was the second panic attack in two weeks, both times were around Ivy. I knew she wasn't the reason they came on, but I couldn't help but think I wouldn't have had them had she not been with me. At the same time, I didn't want to think what would have happened had she not been there both times. Was she the cause or was she the cure?
She didn't ask a single question or hesitate for one moment. Instead, she grabbed my hand and pulled me off the dance floor where my feet had been planted, pulling me through the crowds until we were outside. We stopped outside of the door and she looked at me, smiling weakly. I couldn't pull my thoughts together enough to speak or do anything to give her comfort; so, instead, I walked her back to my car.
Once inside, I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off my shoulders, throwing it behind me into the back seat before turning the air on high until my skin prickled in goose bumps. My head dropped into my hands as I tried to process everything. However, the only thing running through my mind was how Ivy was feeling. It was the only thing I cared about. Had I scared her off? Had I done too much? Had I ruined everything? Was she frightened because of what happened between us or because of my panic attack? I worried that she was seeing the real me, the unstable man with issues that dated back to one weekend twenty-seven years ago. The man I kept hidden away, even from myself. The one that rejected any kind of real feelings by erecting a wall of protection that could reach the sky, the one that harbored so much darkness it could cover the earth in a blackout.
"Cade … " Ivy cautiously rested her hand on my bare shoulder. "Talk to me."
I picked my head up and turned to her. "Why?" I asked quietly, my entire body shaking. What was happening to me? Why was I shaking so badly? I didn't feel cold. And why was I asking her that? Normally, I would've already given an excuse or ignored the words completely. Why was I giving her the chance to question me more?
"What happened back there? What was that? Are you okay?" She sounded so sincere and worried and I wasn't sure how to handle that. It wasn't as if no one had shown me worry before-I'd had enough of that as a young child-but there was something in her eyes that begged me to tell her. It begged me to open up and allow her in.
"You took my breath away, Ivy. It's as simple as that. I told you I couldn't breathe if I didn't have your air. You took it away from me." I was flirting with her, sure, but on some level, I was expressing the truth. I just didn't want her to know that. I wanted her to think we were still roleplaying, that I was merely playing a part.
She moved her eyes to the windshield, suddenly growing smaller in her seat, withdrawing. It took me by surprise because ever since she kissed me on the dance floor, she had shown a level of confidence I had never witnessed before. She took charge when she needed to get me out of there and showed honest compassion when asking if I was okay. Where did that woman go? I needed her back.
"Are you okay?" I asked, turning the question on her.
She nodded and then focused on her twisting hands in her lap. "I think it's time to go home."
"I'm not done yet," I stated, earning her attention.
"What are we going to do now?"
I smiled and messed with the temperature controls until it was no longer blowing freezing air through the vents. "You were confident in there. Do you realize that? You were strong, and in control, and sexy as hell. You took charge and you didn't freak out. But now … now you're back to twisting your hands together and barely looking at me. What happened, Ivy? Where did you go?"
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and I could see how shaky it was. "I don't know. Maybe it was because I was pretending to be someone else. And then you needed me and my empathy just took over."
"Then why can't you just pretend to be someone else while you're having sex?"
She shrugged her shoulders and dropped her eyes again. "I can't. Back there, I wasn't naked, no one was looking at me. You weren't touching me-"
"Yes I was. I had my hands all over you."
"But not like that."
I turned my body so that I was facing her. The only light in the car was from the screen on the dash and even that was dim. I could see her outline and where she was looking, but other than that, it was too dark to see anything.
"Touch yourself," I blurted out, not caring how it sounded. I was desperate for the brave and self-assured girl back. My words caused her to stiffen in her seat and I could hear the air she sucked in but never heard it release. "Ivy, it's dark in here, no one can see you. Just put your hands in your pants and touch yourself."
Ivy's eyes were wide and bright in the dim light of the car as she looked at me with horror. "I … can't, Cade. No. I'm not touching myself, especially in front of you." Her defiance was set in her tone.
"Have you touched yourself like I told you to last week?"
She shook her head instead of verbally answering.
"Do it, Ivy. I want to see you." I knew I sounded like a breathless pervert so I shook my head and started again. "I want to make sure you can do it. No one will ever be able to touch you if you can't touch yourself. It's nothing more than exploring. Just reach below the waistband of your pants and lay your hand on yourself."
I watched as she slowly and nervously did as she was told. Her breathing had picked up and echoed around me, coming out in shaky pants, not because she was aroused, but because she was frightened and fearful. I could tell that by the look of uncertainty on her face.
Once her hand was in place, I instructed her to move it, but she didn't. She kept it still with her eyes wide ahead of her. "Okay, just keep it there until you're comfortable. Take slow and even breaths. If you have to look out the window or close your eyes, then do it. Pretend you're someone else, somewhere else. Do whatever you have to do in order to find comfort with your hand there."
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, taking in one full, deep breath through her nose. After a few moments, her body began to relax and her breathing evened out. "Okay, now what?" she asked with her head still tilted back and her eyes remaining closed.
"Move your fingers around. Try it side to side and then in a circle."
My eyes were trained on her lap, watching things I couldn't see. Her hand started moving, but it was very slow, almost timid. I told her to try it a little faster, and then even faster, feeling my pants become tight as they stretched across the bulge in my lap. I had watched countless clients masturbate before, and all of them had been naked in the process, yet I had never become fully aroused. I had never had to fight the urge to do something about it. I used to pride myself on my professionalism, yet with Ivy, I couldn't help but turn into a horny teenager, salivating at the idea of touching her, seeing her, feeling her.
Her hand stopped abruptly and she turned to look at me, finally opening her eyes. I was so thankful for the lack of light; otherwise, she would have seen how much she affected me. "What is this supposed to do exactly? I mean, I know what it's supposed to do, but why am I doing this?"
"For starters, you're supposed to be comfortable with it. And the obvious, you're supposed to find pleasure in it. Those are the two things you need in order to have sex. You need to be comfortable, with yourself and with the other person, and you need to find pleasure in it. If you don't, then there's no point in it. Sex is pleasurable, and it's very hard to achieve that if you can't achieve it on your own." I was back to being the professional-at least I was in my voice … not so much in my pants.
"I can't do this," she said and pulled her hand free.