Page 163 of Yearn
Oliver would be shocked and cry.
I could see it: their little faces peering down the stairs, catching flashes of Scott’s rage, my torn dress, the truth bleeding into their innocence.
No. I’m going to get control of this evening.
I bit down on the panic and pushed harder, forcing Scott up the next step. My arms ached, my heart hammered, but the only thought that mattered was get him back to sleep.
When we got to the top, Scott stopped.
"Teyonah." His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "You're not. . .you're not with. . .him. Right?"
To my shock, his eyes actually watered.
I moved him forward. "With who?"
"The tenant."
"That's none of your business. You gave up the right to know anything about my life when you moved into that apartment with your mistress and left me with two confused children and a mortgage I couldn't afford alone."
"Teyonah. . .you threw. . .me out—"
"We're not doing this." I shoved him toward the bathroom. "Not now. Not ever."
He stumbled in and leaned against the wall.
I sucked my teeth and headed to the bathroom. When I flicked on the light, the brightness hurt my eyes.
In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back.
Hair wild.
Lips swollen.
Eyes too bright.
Dress definitely backwards.
I looked like I'd been claimed.
And God help me, I liked it.
This was what being desired looked like.
This was what good sex did to a woman's face.
No wonder Scott was asking questions.
He’d never seen me this way, because he could never please me like Dominic had just done.
But then darkness drowned out the joy of the moment.
If Scott remembers any of this tomorrow. . .it’s going to be a problem.
I fixed my dress, putting it on the correct way, then I yanked open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the Tylenol bottle.
Right in front. How did Scott not see it? Or did he really even try to find it?
I went back into the bedroom and handed the bottle to him. “Here. Take this and go downstairs."
