He bit her lips and she gripped his shirt, holding him close and kissing him slowly. The container of chicken fell forgotten onto the floor. It took less than an hour for his prediction to come true and Erin’s panties to come off, but soon her tension also returned.
“Let’s shut out the lights.”
“The lights aren’t on.” They were literally sitting in the dark, a small glow of light spilling from the kitchen.
She fidgeted, her hands covering her breasts as he kissed her neck. He slowly plied her arms away. “Relax.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“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.
“It’s not as intimate.” He tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
She didn’t deny his words.
Was that it? Was she afraid of intimacy? He’d posed the same suspicion to Finn, but never thought much about how that might impact him and Erin moving forward.
Her voice was low, her stare on his chest as her fingers absentmindedly swept through the nap of the carpet. “You know how a fire feels so good when your’re cold?”
“Sure.”
“It feels good, but you can’t get too close or you get hurt. It’s a comfort until it burns you. And when it burns you, you carry the scars forever.”
Regret pinched in his gut. Was she saying she wanted to be close to him but couldn’t bear it? Was this her way of saying she was afraid of getting burned? It pained him to think she feared he would ever hurt her. “Erin, I’d never hurt you. I can barely step on a spider without feeling guilty.”
“I believe you, but…I’m messed up. I have trust issues wired well beyond my control, and I don’t know how to flip the switch.” Her hand stilled. “Maybe I can’t.”
It was a scary possibility. He hated when she talked about herself that way. “Is it something we can try to work through?”
She looked up at him with big eyes and he sensed some raw truth coming. “I want to be normal. I just don’t know how.”