18+ | Eva French relocates from sunny Florida to the gritty streets of Detroit, seeking a fresh start. But her new beginning takes a dark turn when she experiences a traumatic assault on her very first night in the city. Haunted by the incident, Eva...
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Vince Matthews
As captivating and beautiful as I found her, and despite how much I've found myself enjoying her company the past few months, there is a limit to what I can endure. The last time I had been this confused with a woman was with Camille. I tried not to compare Eva to her because I knew it wasn't fair, but I constantly found myself in a state of uncertainty.
I attempted to communicate with her, offering comfort and support, but she never explained the re-emergence of her sudden bouts of emotions or tears. I often wondered if something was going on at home with her mom, or perhaps she was missing her dad.
That couldn't be right, though. There was a pattern to her sadness and tears that I had grown to recognize. It was always after I touched her—when our kiss would deepen and when we would come dangerously close to treading the line between innocent affection and intimate desire—that her tears would well up, casting a shadow over the whole moment. As I grappled with this pattern, a knot of self-doubt tightened in my chest. Was she just not attracted to me? Did she not want me to touch her?
I squeezed my eyes in frustration, a low guttural groan escaping my lips. But that couldn't be right, either. How would that explain the night we had before Lea had interrupted, then? Eva had been so willing that night. I saw the desire in her eyes, felt the heat emanating from her body, and the wetness between her legs. I knew I wasn't imagining it. It was real. I remembered the way she responded to my touch, the way her breath hitched and her body arched towards mine.
So what was it, then? Was she scared to go all the way with me? She must have felt hesitant, knowing and having witnessed my history with women. I silently cursed myself, cringing at the thought of how she must have perceived me. Recollections surged through me—like the first time she came to my house, waiting for me on the porch while I foolishly returned with another woman in my arms. Or the time, just a week ago, when Lea callously revealed details of our past encounters to her weeks prior, right in the same place where Eva had stood. That must have been embarrassing for her, though she never made me feel bad about it. And then there were the countless times we were around Jay's fire, where my friends had blabbed on and on about all my sexual exploits, all of us unaware of the impacts it had on Eva.
There was even a time, and now I was really cringing as I thought back to this, when I had been proudly showing her pictures of a car I had been working on from work on my cellphone. With eager attention, she peered at the photos, soaking in my explanations as I swiped through the album, detailing each step I had taken to fix the engine. My big fat fuckin' thumb had swiped back one picture too many, revealing a rather compromising photo, to put it lightly, of Rosalia. She was lying on her back with my very recognizable bedroom as a backdrop, her naked body arched provocatively, her hands delicately cupping her breasts as she gazed lustfully at the camera.
As soon as the image flashed on the screen, I froze, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. Why hadn't I deleted those, or at least grouped them into a separate album or something? There were so many pictures and even videos during fun moments with Rosa and other girls that I should have known this was bound to happen at some point. I never had a reason to hide them before, but at that moment I regretted my negligence, as Eva's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth forming a small 'o' of shock.
