The Tipping Point

Alyx strode from the office to the refrigerator. There was no acknowledgement. Her perfect face didn't warm my soul with a loving smile. She was in attack mode.

I mentally scrolled through the things I had or hadn't done since yesterday.

"I'd put my dirty clothes in the correct hampers," I recalled. "Straightened the kitchen before I left this morning. Paid the bills I handled. Even cleaned the windows as a surprise."

I felt secure in knowing that, whatever had her hackles raised, it wasn't because of me.

I opened my laptop at the kitchen table and started catching up on the latest news. Ten minutes later, she stormed out to refill her water bottle.

"Anything I can do?" I asked, as a matter of courtesy.

"No" couldn't come out of her fast enough. While she got her drink, I looked into the office to see the art project she'd been struggling with. This was atop the articles coming due for her publisher, and the new side hustle she'd taken on reviewing architectural designs. It wasn't beyond what she could handle; on her best days. The lure of additional income and the upgraded version of the car she wanted had hooked her. Now, the walls were tumbling in on the one person who prided herself on delivering results on time.

She'd bootstrapped herself through critical mass before, but this wasn't looking like one of them. What was worse was that the overload had caused her to stop working out, a key counter balance she relied on to manage stress. She had also cast aside sex, which I was fully supportive of, but knew eliminated a key part of releasing tension. Sex really seemed to help her manage her ADHD symptoms.

This time, she paused before reentering the office. I grew optimistic that she'd at least use me as a sounding board for her struggles, but no. Back in she went, closing the door behind her.

I returned to what I was doing, while also thinking about what I could make for dinner that would captivate and nourish her starving mind.

"She adores the shrimp risotto I make," I thought, then went to check for ingredients. Everything was there, along with asparagus for a side. The lemon curd I'd just made would go great with fresh strawberries and a crumble topping for dessert, and the Albariño wine used in the risotto would bring it all together. I was set.

Now I just needed her to stay off the ADHD train long enough to prioritize and finish her work. Judging from the incessant typing I heard, that was just what I thought was taking place. But she stormed out again. I caught a quick glimpse of her steeled expression and far-away eyes.

I knew now that she needed a release, and that she would not grant it herself. Something to burn off the immense anxiety that she was crumbling under. Consoling her would go nowhere, and I knew she would never take the time for a run.

I could only think of one other option, and I went all in. If it failed, it could cause great harm to our relationship, but I loved her so dearly that it was worth the risk.

She was walking from the kitchen back to the office when I stopped her.

"Mark, don't," she said.

"Don't what," I responded.

"I need you to get out of my way," she said.

"I can't do that," I replied.

"You need to let me pass. I've got to get these things done, and there's nothing you can do to help me," she said.

"That's where you're wrong," I said back to her.

"Mark!" she said more firmly, then tried to inch past me. I planted my arm on the wall to block her way. She started moving the other direction, and I planted my other arm.

"Dammit, Mark. Move out of my fucking way!" she cried out.

"Not until I'm done," I responded.

"Cut this out!" she admonished.

I closed the gap between us, leaving no room. She continued to look everywhere but at me. I placed a hand on her jaw, but didn't force her to look in any particular direction.

"Mark, I'm going to fucking scream if you don't let me go," she said with escalating rage.

Now I forced her to look directly at me.

"Scream!" I said. "Scream out all of your pent-up rage at me. Rip my head off with your anger."

She was unsure, seemingly torn over what to do next. I, however, knew exactly what my next act would be.

I kissed her hungrily, then released her lips.

"I don't have time for that shit!" she raged.

I kissed her again, this time slipping my other hand down her torso to enter her shorts. She fought by bucking her hips at me.

"Mark, please," she said, with a hint of pleading in her voice. "We can have sex later. I've got to get these things done!"

"I don't want sex from you," I said sternly. "I am not trying to interrupt you or ruin your attempts to get on track. This is an exorcism. I want those demons to leave your head."

My fingers reached her slit and began moving up and down. She responded by grabbing the hand on her jaw to yank it away, and my hand in her shorts to pull it out. I reacted by forcing her to look at me as I moved my face to within inches of hers. The fingers of my other hand hooked into her and began rubbing.

"Focus on me, Alyx," I commanded. "Stare me down with all the frustration and angst within you. Release all of that onto me."

She glared menacingly at me; her enraged expression tried to burn through my skull. However, her effort to remove my fingers from her slit only amplified my effort, and it wasn't long before she melted into the throes of orgasm with screams that exemplified pleasure over angst. I never left eye contact and had the compersive satisfaction of watching her O face emerge.

I held her up as her breathing normalized and her body collapsed against mine. Our thundering heart rates returned to functional normalcy as we stood, sweaty and consumed.

"Thank you," she purred.

"All for you, my sweet," I answered, letting her regain her strength. With a final, deep exhale, she straightened, kissed me warmly, and went back into the office. My heart soared as I heard melodic humming as she went about completing her tasks.