Page 106 of Yearn
Her hair was loose, spilling in waves down her shoulders.
She looked fucking delicious—soft, vulnerable, womanly power in every sway of her hips as she descended.
Scott saw it too and wickedly licked his lips.
And I wanted to kill him for it.
If I had my way, his eyes would be the last thing I’d take from him. I’d rip them out with my bare hands so he’d never look at her again. I could see myself doing it—blood streaking my palms, his screams muffled by the carpet.
I swallowed it back, my jaw aching with the force of restraint.
You fucking cheat on her as much as you can, and now what? You think you will come back and fuck her with your dirty dick?
“Teyonah,” Scott raised the papers like a man toasting at a funeral. “Court order. You should read it, sweetheart.”
Her face went taut. “What the hell is this? What sort of court order?”
“Judge Coleman signed it.” Scott slapped the paper against his thigh, smug. “Six months cohabitation. That means I’m moving back in.”
“Absolutely not!” She crossed her arms. “You don’t get to just waltz in and—”
“Oh, I do.” He smiled like a wolf. “Read the court order. I’mlegallyallowed. You can fight it, sure, but until then, this is my house too.”
I stepped closer. “You should lower your voice. The kids are sleeping.”
Scott flicked his gaze at me, scanning the lines of my arms under the scrubs. His lip curled. “And who the fuck are you again? What are you doing here this late?”
Teyonah’s chin lifted. “That’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He stalked closer, waving the papers. “You rented out the basement without telling me? Without consulting me? Who is this guy? Some stray you picked up at the hospital? He has fucking scrubs on.”
“You don’t get to know shit.” Her voice cut sharp. “This is alsomyhouse—the one you happily raced out of to go with Cindy or whatever her name is, so what I choose to do ismydecision.”
“I’ll be talking to Judge Coleman about this.”
My blood surged hot.
I imagined grabbing his jaw and snapping it sideways, the crack echoing down the hallway. Then, I imagined dragging him out by his throat and leaving him twitching on the driveway like roadkill.
Instead, I stood very still.
Don’t make this worse for her.
Then I saw it.
The tremor in her hands as she clutched her arms tighter across her chest. The rapid rise and fall of her breathing—shallow, quick, pulling oxygen like she couldn't get enough.
Her pupils were dilated, fight-or-flight fully engaged, cortisol flooding her system faster than her body could metabolize it.
All the work from last night—the careful unwinding of her nervous system, the time in the shower I'd spent coaxing her body out of its perpetual state of hypervigilance—gone.
Shattered.
In less than three minutes, this bastard had undone everything.
Her autonomic nervous system had kicked into overdrive: sympathetic activation firing on all cylinders.
Heart rate probably spiking to 120, 130 beats per minute.
