Scream For me

WESTON

Her eyes are big, surprise written all over her face, but in an instant it’s replaced with a scowl.

“What are you doing here-again?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you always just open the door to strangers, completely unaware?” I step into her apartment, causing her to back up. I close the door and lock it again.

“No, it’s not like I get a lot of strangers knocking on my door. I thought it might have just been my neighbor asking me to hang out again.”

“Hang out?”

“Yeah, like to watch a movie or play video games with him,” she says casually.

“Him?” I crook an eyebrow, trying to keep that jealous feeling at bay.

“He’s harmless, trust me. He’s just awkward and probably lonely. I don’t think he has any friends. Now, I answered a lot of your questions so back to mine. What are you doing here-I don’t see Daisy with you this time.”

I look down at her outfit, noticing she’s wearing the fuzzy socks again and it makes me smile. Her shorts are almost nonexistent beneath her oversized t-shirt. Her hair is in two braids hanging down over her shoulders.

“I heard you needed a picture hung.”

“Eavesdropping again, Mr. Vaughn?” She cocks her head, a smirk on her face. It’s funny to see how she slips between that nervous, bubbly woman I met in Paris and this feisty, combative woman standing before me.

“Do you always have to be argumentative?” I snap, instantly feeling bad. I hate that I can’t control my tone with her. It’s childish. I want her to want me just as badly but I can’t figure out if she truly does hate me or if this is just a game of playing hard to get. “No,” I soften my tone, “it’s not eavesdropping when you were having the conversation loud enough that I could clearly hear you from where I was standing.” We both stand there in silence for a moment. “So,” I say as I remove my suit jacket and place it neatly on the back of one of her barstools, “do you want to show me where the picture needs to be hung?”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Not to be argumentative, but is this going to be another tit-for-tat situation where I’ll owe you some favor in a few weeks?”

“No, consider it something done out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You mean you have one those?”

I smile at her, knowing damn well this isn’t out of the goodness of my heart, but more like my dick. The thought of Mr. Fudge Sundae in her apartment made my stomach sour the rest of the afternoon and maybe I’m just projecting, but she seemed uncomfortable with giving him her number.

“Okay, it’s in here.” She walks down the hallway and I follow her.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Fuck, her bedroom?

I glance around the room. It’s small but tidy. Her bed is all white, crisp, and cozy-looking with several decorative throw pillows in soft pink. On her nightstand is a small brass lamp, a stack of three books, and a framed picture of her with a young man and an older couple. I’m assuming it’s her family.

“I was thinking it would look good over here.” She points to a space on the wall opposite her bed.

I walk over next to her, the picture, a painting of wildflowers in an antique brass frame, propped against the wall. “Heavier than it looks,” I say, picking it up.

“Yeah, that’s why I figured the Command Strips weren’t going to cut it.”

I tap on the wall, listening for the studs. “Stud there,” I say, continuing to tap, “and there. Do you have a pencil? I should have asked for that before.”

“Just a second.” She opens the drawer of a small desk by her closet and hands one to me. I mark where the studs start and end on both sides before placing it in my pocket.

“Probably best we hang it on either stud unless you have wall anchors?”

“Umm, I’m not sure I know what those even are.” She does that thing again where she wraps her arms around her waist, then reaches up to rub her neck almost nervously.

Is she uneasy having me in her bedroom for the same reasons that ran through my head? Because the second I saw her bed, I imagined her arms and legs tied to the brass frame as I took my time exploring her body. The thought of her trembling beneath my touch, completely at my mercy, has me so on edge I’m seconds away from my cock making its presence very known again.

“Not a problem. I’ll make sure we won’t need them. How about you stand back and let me know when I’ve got it in the right spot.”

“Okay.” She nervously steps around me, walking to the other side of the room as I pick up the picture and hold it against the wall.

“We can put it here,” I say, looking back at her. “Or further over here.”

“I like it there.” I move it over and look at her again. “Over just a little more, little more, there. Perfect.”

“My hands are a little full. Any chance you can make a small mark where the bottom left corner is?”

“Oh, sure. Where is the pencil?”

“Uh, in my pocket,” I look down toward my front right pocket where the end is sticking out.

She steps closer to me, so close I can smell her hair as she grabs it gingerly before making the mark on the wall. “Like that?” She turns to look up at me.

“Just like that.” I place the picture back down on the floor. “You said you have the tools, right?”

“Yeah, they’re in my linen closet.”

I follow her back into the hallway and she opens the narrow closet door. “I put them up here”-her words strain as she stands on her tippy-toes to reach for a small tool bag-“since I wasn’t using them.”

“Allow me.” I step forward, reaching above her to grab the bag as she takes a small step back right into my chest. I feel her lose her balance as her foot lands on mine. I keep a firm grip on the bag with one hand, my other instinctually coming down to wrap around her waist to steady her.

“Shit, sorry.”

“This is starting to become a pattern with us, isn’t it?” I can hear my voice lower, the warmth of her body doing something to me. “At least no coffee was involved this time.”

“I swear I’m not even clumsy.” She giggles, stepping out of my embrace.

“Well, like you said, I bring out the worst in you so we’ll just chalk it up to that.” I don’t mean for it to sound condescending or pathetic, but it does.

“That was rude of me to say. I didn’t mean it. I was just lashing out when I said it.”

“Nah, you were right. It’s okay. No need to apologize.” The air grows thick between us again and I want to ask her what she’s thinking but I know

I shouldn’t. “Well, let me get this picture hung for you.” I look through her tool bag, finding the nails, tape measure, and hammer, and place them on the end of the bed.

“Why didn’t you want Preston to help me hang the picture?” She leans against the doorframe of her bedroom.

“Is that his name?” I unbutton my cuffs, rolling my sleeves up slowly. “Mr. Fudge Sundae?”

She cocks her head as if she’s hiding a secret, then she smiles. “Yeah, the other teacher you saw me talking to in my classroom.”

“Preston,” I say his name again as I reach for the tape measure. “Figures, a man wearing deck shoes for fashion would have that name.”

“What’s wrong with his name? Sounds very similar to yours in fact. Preston, Weston.”

I take a few measurements, marking where the nail needs to go on the wall. “Did you want him to do this instead?”

I pick up the nail and hammer, lining it up and tapping it into the wall. I grab the picture, lifting it and placing the taut wire on the nail. I step back, making sure it’s level.

“Looks great.” She steps further into the room. I walk around the bed, standing beside her to look at it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I grab the tools, placing them back in the bag, then in the closet. I start walking down the hallway toward the front door. “You didn’t answer my question, Daphne.” I level my eyes on her as I roll my sleeves back down, buttoning my cuffs. “Would you rather Preston be here right now?” She slowly shakes her head. “I can’t hear you.” I reach for my jacket, sliding it back on. “No.”

“And why is that?” I adjust my jacket, stepping closer to her.

“No reason.” She shrugs, her eyes shifting away from mine as she circles the island, reaching for a bottle of wine. “Did you want to stay for a drink?”

I step around the island toward her and she takes a small step backward, her back hitting the counter.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I take another step toward her, reaching for the bottle and placing it on the counter behind her.

“No?” Her voice goes up an octave. “Why not?”

I let out a throaty chuckle. “I think you know why.” I touch the end of her braid, my fingers brushing over her silky hair. “These are cute.”

“It’s just a drink. My friend Xana comes over all the time for a drink and honestly, it’s just a kind gesture since you came over and he-”

I reach up and wrap my hand around the back of her head, my thumb at her jawline. Her nervous energy is back. “Do you ever just let a moment happen, Daphne?”

“A moment? I was just answering your ques-” she starts to ramble again.

“Please shut the fuck up,” I whisper against her lips as I lean in, pressing mine against hers. My other hand finds its way around her waist, her hands still clamped around the edge of the counter. I move my lips over hers, my tongue gently pressing against them, demanding entrance. She releases the counter, her hands coming to rest against my chest as she kisses me back fervently. I tilt my head, pulling at her neck to deepen the kiss as she lets out a soft moan. I take the opportunity to snake my tongue into her mouth, sweeping it across hers, her fingers curling against my shirt.

“That’s why,” I murmur after breaking the kiss. “I can’t trust myself around you.”

Her lips are pink and swollen, her breath coming out in puffs against mine. She blinks slowly, her fingers still clutching at my chest.

“Why can’t you?” she asks almost breathlessly.

“Because the things I want to do to you”-I lean in, running my lips softly up her neck-“are not nice.”

“What kinds of things?” Her eyes flutter closed, her head tilting back to expose her neck even further to my lips.

“Bad things, Miss Flowers. Very bad things.”