Page 154 of Yearn
Insistent.
Too real.
The damned man was not going anywhere. It was clear he would stay there until someone said something.
Scott knocked over and over. “H-hello? I. . .h-hear someone. . .in there. . .I-I need help. . .p-please. . .”
Then, the knob rattled like a loose tooth ready to come out in someone else’s hand.
Goddamn it!
Pissed, I tried to stay inside her, tried to keep us locked together, bodies and breath unwilling to accept the interruption pounding through the wood.
But, she shoved at me hard. “We have to stop.”
“No.”
“Dominic, get off me.” Her eyes cut to the door, then back to me. “Now.”
GODDAMN IT!!
Sneering, I pulled out of her and rolled off.
She quickly rose from the bed—a vision of debauched elegance. Her natural hair was wild, kinked strands escaping whatever style she'd had earlier.
Her brown skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and even disheveled, even frightened, she looked like something men would start wars over. The dress clung to curves that should be illegal—full breasts, rounded hips, the kind of body that made Renaissance painters weep.
Scott walked away from this? This man is clinically insane.
As if he heard my thoughts, the piece of shit knocked again. “Hello. . .I-is my wife. . .down here? Teyonah?”
Her inhale stuttered.
Then she lifted her chin and dropped her voice into something light and domestic that didn’t belong to our moment. “I’m here,Scott. Give me a minute. I’m. . .just helping our tenant with his. . .toilet.”
The lie had to climb over heat and catch on dignity on its way out.
I heard the scuff in it.
Scott probably did too. “What’s. . .wrong with it?”
“Never mind that.” Rolling her eyes, she straightened her dress. “What do you want, Scott?”
“Teyonah. . .my head. . .my heart. . .I need Tylenol.”
“It’s in the damn bathroom. Go get it.”
“I didn’t. . .see any Tylenol in. . there.”
She found her panties, quickly put them on, and grabbed her shoes. “I am not a pharmacist, Scott. And I am notyournurse. Figure it out.”
Her voice was steady, but I saw her hand shake as she straightened her dress. I'd seen that shake before—in patients trying to stay calm while their abuser was coming in the room.
Silence pooled on the other side.
I could picture his face—confused by her pushback, offended by all her boundaries, and definitely angling for pity. Then, it arrived on schedule.
“I. . .need h-help, Teyonah. P-please. . .I think. . .I’m dying. . .over here.”
