Page 10 of Yield to Me

I was in a stupor, staring at a woman being fucked from behind, hard and ruthless. “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I don’t know enough about this stuff.”

Owen smiled. “If you would like an instructor in these parts, let me know.” I blushed, and Owen laughed. As if knowing that I needed a break from the intensity of the dungeon, he took me to the resting area, changed the subject and asked about my studies at the Foundations For the Arts, whether I had my portfolio ready for submission. I had been taking photographs and short videos of my work, but I hadn’t narrowed it down to my best twenty pieces yet. Owen nodded, thoughtfully asked about the process of my favorite pieces, and asked to see the photographs and videos of them. I turned red.

“Maybe next time,” I said. I didn’t know why I suddenly felt nervous around him when before, I had shown him my art in defiance. “I should get going,” I said.

Owen looked at his watch. “It’s close to dawn. The club will be closing soon,” he said. We were the only ones left in the room. I hadn’t noticed how many people had gone since we started talking. I felt embarrassed—this was only supposed to be a quick trip, to get my mind off of the drama at home, but I had stayed for hours. But Owen smiled at me and I forgot about my embarrassment. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

As we walked down the street, Owen said that he would have the restaurant contact me about an interview, and I nodded, but I wasn’t listening. I was wondering why I was scared to show him my art. Was it because of his lack of response to it back at the gallery? No, I thought. Some people were like that, verbally quiet, especially when it came to art. Perhaps he preferred to ruminate over each piece, take a mental photograph, then analyze it for a while before speaking out loud. But I couldn’t shake it from my head; was I afraid of what he thought of my work? I guessed so, but it wasn’t that. Perhaps it wasn’t whether or not he would like my art; that was simple enough. It was the uncertainty of not knowing whether he would understand what my intentions were, and what it would mean if he did understand. If he didn’t understand, it would mean that I couldn’t talk to him about my passion, something that was part of my very core. And that would be the end of it. And if he did understand my work, well… Perhaps that would indicate something about him that would make the attraction to him even worse. I wasn’t ready to face either possibility.

I stopped next to my car. “Thanks for inviting me,” I said. I held out my hand. “I needed the escape tonight.”

He smiled, took my hand in both of his, enveloping them, a slow heat crawling to my core at his touch. “The pleasure is mine,” he said.

I didn’t want to break our stare; I wanted to show him that I could face him like he faced me, unafraid. But my eyes lingered down, traced his nose, his lips, the dark freckle next to his bottom lip. He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin, and I swallowed a deep breath.

“Mister Lowell,” I said, squeezing his hand to remind myself that it was supposed to be a handshake, nothing more. I noticed he was staring at my mouth as well, and I licked my bottom lip as a reflex. He pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around my back, sweeping me into his grasp in one swift movement, his fingers gripping my hair.

“Damn it, Riley,” he said. His hand in my hair pulled me back, arching my neck, and he kissed me. My knees shook with nerves and I opened my mouth the tiniest bit, feeling his tongue tickle mine. Then he pulled back, slowly letting go of his grip around me. I thought I might fall, but he was still holding me.

“Call me Owen,” he said.

The sun’s orange rays swam against the light purple sky in front of us. I got in the car and pulled away from the curb, my legs still jittering from the adrenaline rush of our kiss. In the rearview mirror, I saw Owen was watching me leave. On the drive home, I realized my legs were spread. I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to be underneath Owen, what he would show me I was capable of.

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