Page 83 of The Games We Play

I give him a tightlipped smile and squint my eyes as I study his gorgeous features. I remember laying just like this all those nights at camp, staring up at him. It’s the same now, except his jawline is harder, more prominent. It’s scattered with a small amount of stubble in the morning, and he’s got a couple of wisdom lines on the corners of his eyes. The scar over his eyebrow is still there, but has grown larger with him. I remember the details of it as I flashback to all the memories that I’ve had of this exact moment.

“I haven’t been with another man since you,” I admit.

36

SEAMUS

My jaw clenches on its own at her confession and my eyes squint in confusion.

“I mean, I’ve done things with other guys.” She shrugs, and I think my molar just cracked in half. “I dated a few guys here and there, but I could never get past just hand jobs and BJs. I think most of them thought I was some controlling dominatrix or something, because I would never let them touch me. I just never…I couldn’t…I was never comfortable with it,” she says out loud, like it’s been haunting her all this time.

I can’t imagine living with that. The desire to want more, but being so terrified of getting it because of what happened to her.

Although, I can’t say I’m not happy about the fact another man hasn’t touched her that way. But I still hate that she has gone through the past decade pushing down her sexual desires because of one man’s actions that’s now defined her life in ways that have been out of her control.

“I need you, Seamus.” She nuzzles into me as her hand skirts over my chest. Her fingertips graze delicately over my skin and it sends shivers all over my body, igniting fireworks in my cock, instantly feeding my half-hard erection.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to take her how I want her. But now is not the time for that.

I pull her hands up to my mouth, kissing her knuckles before holding them still over my body, preventing her from continuing to touch me. I want her more than anything, but finding out what happened to her stalled any thoughts I’ve had of taking her in all the ways I’ve wanted to.

I peer down at her, but she’s turned away and her deep sigh is an instant realization that I just massively fucked up.

Yanking her hands out from mine, she pushes herself off the bed and violently grabs an over-sized pair of pants, stepping into them before ripping them up to her waist.

“You’re going to treat me like everyone else, like I’m glass on the verge of shattering.” Her arms flail out to her sides and drop down heavily. “Oh, don’t push Naomi too far, she’ll break.” She air quotes with her fingers in a sardonic, sarcastic voice.

“Mimi…hey, let’s just take it?—”

“Take it slow? Yeah, I’ve heard that, too.Take it easy on yourself, give yourself time,” she continues with a mocking voice as she mumbles to herself, to me, saying things she’s been told and heard over the years.

Words like, violent crime, victim, PTSD.

“No one ever cares what I want,” she whispers to herself.

I should be shocked by her erratic behavior, but fuck, it makes total sense.

It’s been ten years of living with the nightmare of what happened to her. Dealing with the loss of a pregnancy and taking away so many choices and freedoms. I can’t even imagine the roller coaster of emotions it’s put her through.

She finally shared she wanted more, wanted me, and I just rejected her.

I put her in the same category that everyone else has her whole life. Making her feel fragile and weak.

Goddammit, Seamus.

She forcefully pushes her feet into already tied running shoes, and I’m completely confused. She’s never once worn sneakers out of all the times I’ve watched her, and I haven’t missed a day, a moment, or an outfit.

“Are you going running?” I ask.

It’s both literal and figurative being that she’s running away, like the first night we reunited.

“I need to get out of here,” she admits, still looking around the room for something.

Ripping the covers off, I stand and block the door.

She’s not leaving, not like this.

“Fuck it. I don’t need a hair thing.” Turning, she sees me standing in front of the closed door. “Get out of my way, Seamus.” Her voice is lighter now. She says it factually. Not angry, but more so defeated.

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