Find Me Alastar

He picks up my princess ring from the bedside table and stares at it for a moment deep in thought, and

then he sits down on the bed next to me and picks up my hand to slide it onto my finger. I close my hand

around his and he bends to kiss me.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I smile. “Good morning, my Twinkle.”

He smiles cheekily. “Would you like some breakfast?” he asks in a husky fuck-me-now Irish accent.

I nod and pull the blankets back. “Come lie with me first.”

He shakes his head. “I’m too hungry. Come cuddle me downstairs. We can come back to bed later.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me out of bed, wrapping me in his robe soon after. I begrudgingly follow him

downstairs and take a seat at the kitchen counter.

He flicks on the coffee machine and leans over the counter to kiss me on the lips.

I smile, suddenly bashful at the thought of our sexual activities last night.

I don’t know if it was the champagne, the man, or the carefree attitude, but he pushed me further than I

have ever gone before.

“What?” He smirks into my lips.

I run my hands though his stubble. “You blew my damn mind last night,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, all suction, all domination. “I’m going to blow it again today, too.” He slips his

hand inside my gown and cups my breast. He bends and brings it to his mouth.

He stands with renewed purpose. “I need to feed my mouth before I feed my dick. I’ve got zero petrol

left in the tank,” he mutters in disgust as he turns to the fridge and opens the door.

I laugh. I bet he hasn’t. My tank is way below zero. My elbow leans on the bench and my hand is

under my chin. I watch him look through the fridge. As he goes through the shelves, he turns every single

jar so that the label is all slightly facing the right. I frown as I watch him for an extended time. What is he

doing?

He retrieves the eggs and makes our coffee, and I sit as I watch him. I haven’t noticed him doing this

before? Does he always have these quirks? He hands me my coffee and then carries on making us

breakfast. Every now and then he will stop what he is doing and rearrange the things on the bench, as if

unable to carry on until everything is perfect.

He has OCD.

How have I not noticed this before? I sit still as I think, I know his house is immaculate, as is his car

and his clothing. Hell, the man couldn’t be more perfect if he tried.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

Hmm, interesting.

He throws the tea towel over his shoulder as he chops the ingredients for our Spanish omelet, and he

turns a jar slightly to the right again as if it’s bothering him.

I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “How long have you had OCD?” I ask.

He keeps his head down and his face straight as he keeps chopping.

I wait for him to answer for an extended time, but he doesn’t.

“It’s worse today than it normally is, isn’t it?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine and he nods once.

“How come?”

He shrugs.

I watch him, waiting for his answer.

He pours his egg mixture into the hot pan and it sizzles. “Some days it’s worse than others,” he replies

without making eye contact, continuing to chop the bacon.

I watch him. He doesn’t like that he has this and it’s upset him that I have noticed.

I stand and put my arms around him from behind and kiss his back. “Breakfast smells good.” I smile.

I feel his shoulders slump in relief that I am not going to push for more information. He turns and

kisses my lips. “It will be ready in about ten.”

“I’m going to go upstairs and freshen up.” I smile.

“Okay.” He kisses me again. “Don’t be long.”

I walk upstairs, sit on the bed and take out my phone to hit up Google.

Why is my OCD worse today?

OCD is usually triggered by stress and anxiety. It may be heightened by the fear of losing control over

a situation. Repetitive actions such as excessive cleaning, turning switches or having a need for things

to be just so may be caused by the feeling of helplessness in other areas of your life.

I frown. He’s stressed or anxious. He doesn’t like not being in control.

I throw down my phone and stand there scratching my head as I think.

What has he lost control over?

I stay deep in thought as I a take a quick shower.

What’s he lost control over?

I stand under the steaming hot water when it hits me like a truck.

He’s lost control of his feelings for me.

It scares him.