Page 43 of Deny Me

Eighteen

I wasn’table to focus. Every time I tried to put pen to paper to work on more sketches my mind would drift, and then I would find myself staring out the window, watching the cars drive across the old stone bridge over the Ohio River. I would wonder where they were going to. Were they happy? Were they running away from something like I felt like I was from Jameson?

But I wasn’t running away from Jameson. I was standing my ground on who I was: a woman who doesn’t do relationships. A woman who didn’t need one.

But what if somewhere along the way I’d begun to want one?

My skin felt too tight. Like a leather shoe that you wanted to love more than anything, but it pinched your heel too tight.

But leather could be molded. If you wanted it enough. It could work.

I flopped back on the fluffy pillow on my couch, tossing the sketch pad aside. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to clear my mind before picking my sketchbook back up for another try.

Knocking at my door caused me to jerk my head up. I froze as though the person on the other side would be able to see me lounging on my couch in a mid-personality crisis.

The knocking became pounding, and I got up so the noise didn’t disturb my neighbors. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was only seven-thirty, but it was Sunday and I didn’t want to be a disturbance. Tightening my long wrap sweater around my body to cover the lace camisole I wore beneath, I moved to the door. I looked out of my peephole and was greeted with a bent head showcasing dark hair brushed back and broad shoulders encased in a familiar navy blue shirt.

I pulled back and rolled my lips across my teeth, thinking over my options. I leaned forward to look again, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining him outside my door. When his hand lifted to knock again, I flipped the lock and jerked the door open.

Jameson’s head lifted and his serious eyes scanned over me lingering on my satin sleep pants. All bravado I had ever felt around him was nowhere to be found. I stood before him, clutching the door with one hand and using the other to hold my sweater to my chest like a shield, hesitance written all over my face.

Once his eyes had made a sweep of my body, he stood to his full height. “We need to talk.”

Clearing my throat, I stood tall, trying to give off a confidence I didn’t feel while also avoiding eye-contact. “I think we said all we needed to say.”

“Evelyn,” he warned.

“Thank you for stopping by Jameson,” I moved to close the door. “But it’s late and –”

His palm slapped against the door to push it open, and he walked in. Finally, some of my backbone kicked in at being pushed around, and I stood my ground, glaring at him even as he pushed me back with his large body so he had room to slam the door.

“Get that sassy look off your face.”

Instead, I arched my brow and smirked at him, challenging him.

“You think you’re so in control.” He circled me and then began backing me against the door.

“I am.”

“Oh, Evelyn,” he laughed. “You may have had control over all the other pansy-ass boys you dated and used,” he continued caging me in with his arms on either side of my head. “But I see you. I see the loss of control in your eyes.” I pinched my lips as he moved his face closer to mine, trying to keep up a wall between us. He leaned in with his lips close to my ear. “You know it’s there. But what I’m not sure you know, and I can feel radiating off you in waves, begging me for more…,” he continued as I stared at him, wide-eyed, and waited for him to tell me what he saw in me. “…is that you like it.”

Immediately, I shook my head in denial. “No,” I whispered back weakly.

His tongue dragged up the shell of my ear. “Don’t shake your head at me. I know you, Evelyn. That’s why you dated all those sissies, because you never wanted a man to challenge your control. You knew you would love it and you avoided it to stay in your safe, solitary cocoon.”

My chest heaved, occasionally brushing against his pressed so close to mine. Even while my mind was screaming that it was false, my head still tipped to the side to let him nibble his way down my neck, biting, sucking, kissing.

“Let me in.”

The simple request whispered against my chest ripped through me like a roar. My first response was an immediate denial and I kept shaking my head, unable to say no.

“Do this with me, Evelyn. At least try.”

“Jameson… I…” I stuttered. “You know I don’t do relationships.”

“Just try.” He bit down on my nipple through my camisole, making my back arch off the wall. “Are you scared?” He pushed harder, knowing I would never back down from a challenge. But still, I hesitated. This wasn’t me. I couldn’t do it. Even if looking into his familiar eyes, remembering the way this man was with me in Jamaica, made me want to scream yes. It scared me too much to give a part of myself like he was asking.

Clenching my jaw in frustration at my own inability to force my mind and body to make one choice, I lightly knocked my head against the wall. “I can’t.”

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