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“I am.” She laughed nervously.
“Try harder,” he teased, nuzzling her shoulder.
She shoved at him. “This isn’t working for me.”
He sat back, giving her space and she reached for her sweater on the floor. He sighed, his erection pressing painfully against the zipper of his pants. He didn’t understand. What did she have to hide?
“Why don’t you want me to see you?”
For once, she didn’t lash out. She scooped up the chicken and set the container aside. “It’s not that I don’t want you to see me.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s more about seeing you.”
“What?” He blinked, unsure how to even process that. “Is it the way I look?”
“No! That’s not what I mean. It’s the way you look at me.”
He drew back, hurt that his glance might be making her uncomfortable or making some sort of unattractive face whenever they made out. Jeeze, way to give a guy a complex. “Maybe I should go.”
“No, don’t leave. See, now you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Just a little self-conscious.
“But you’re disappointed.”
He wouldn’t say that either. He was…frustrated. “I want to be close to you, Erin.”
“I want that too.”
“But you don’t want to look at me.”
She gasped as if just realizing how terrible that sounded. “No, Giovanni. I love the way you look. But sometimes…” She fidgeted, pulling her sleeves down over her hands and balling her fists in her lap. “It’s intense.”
“Intense?”
She nodded. “I’m not used to it.”
He didn’t know what to say.
She moved closer, scooting along the floor and leaning into his side. Both their backs pressed into the couch. “I’m sorry.” Her hand slipped into his and squeezed.
It was the first tangible attempt of hers to work through a challenge rather than panic and push him away. Progress, he thought, closing his hand tight around hers.
“It’s okay.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I like being with you. I just get anxiety.”
Once again, he wondered if anyone had ever sexually abused her. He’d already asked once and she said no. He didn’t want to press the issue. Could other abuse have this effect on a person? How deeply could mental and physical abuse reach to cause such post-trauma in unrelated situations?
Erin panicked whenever things started to feel too good. It had to be some sort of psychological trigger.
She cuddled closer, a different form of intimacy, but one he was just as happy to accept. Stretching out his legs, he adjusted his position so she could lay comfortably with her head on his lap.
“It’s easier when the lights are off,” she rasped.
If she couldn’t see him, would she imagine someone else? He liked the visual connection they shared during intimacy, loved watching her responses and reading her body language. Sure, he could still see her in the dark and read the shadows, but he wanted to look into her eyes and know she looked back.
