Page 35 of I Do With You

I pause my trip along her collarbone and stare deeply into her eyes, so close that our noses are touching. “Yes or no, Hope. Tell me anything you want and I’ll give it to you.”

She’s panting, stalling by nipping my own scruffy jaw. “It sounds sexy. I want that, but ... not this time?” She licks along the racing pulse in my neck.

“Do you want to mark me? You can,” I groan as she places open-mouthed kisses along my neck. “Suck me, bite me, touch me. Your fingers on my skin and your mouth on my body are leaving marks that’ll always be there. Write your name on me any way you want, anywhere you want, Hope.”

Her thighs clench around my waist and then release as her feet reach the floor. But her mouth never leaves mine as she keeps ahold of my head, bringing me with her so that I’m forced to bend down to maintain contact. She pulls me toward the couch and I let her lead, desperate to see where she’s taking this.

Hope pushes me to the couch, following me as I sit and settling over me with her core aligned with my cock. Her knees squeeze at my hips and her feet loop back over my knees, holding them wide while she straddles me. I trace my hands up her spine, running my fingers through her hair, and she throws her head back, wanting more. I keep caressing her hair, her scalp, as I kiss along her exposed neck.

I won’t mark her visibly, but like I offered her, I’m going to write my name on her skin with my tongue, my breath, my attention. She melts into me, her head falling forward until she meets my eyes again. Hers are hazy and lust-filled. I imagine mine are the same.

She kisses me this time, pouring herself into me while her hands cup my jaw. She nips my bottom lip, pulling it with a sassy smile that makes me even harder. She’s fucking gorgeous. How does this whole fucking town—no, the whole fucking world—not know that she’s the most beautiful woman to exist?

Fuck, I don’t want them to know. I want it to be my little secret. I want to be the only man who knows what Hope looks like when she gives in to herself, surrendering to her desires and flying freely. This new confidence filling her is private, meant only for us, and like a greedy asshole, I want it all for myself.

She explores me, eventually working her way back to my neck. I groan at the feeling of her little teeth gently biting down, encouraging her. “Fuuuck, Hope.” I knead her ass, hoping small, pink circles of my fingerprints will be there—a hidden mark just for us so she doesn’t think this was a dream.

One of her hands is in my hair, the other on my chest like she’s holding me in place as her hips shift, grinding us together. She’s driving me fucking crazy, and all I can do is let her because if I release even the slightest bit of grip on my nearly shredded restraint, I’m going to rip our clothes out of the way and fill her the way we both want. I bet she’d feel like liquid velvet wrapped around me.

She sucks at the tender flesh over my pulse gently at first, and then harder, interspersing with nibbles and kisses. I don’t know if there will be a physical mark anyone else can see, but I will know it’s there. More importantly, she will know.

Her mouth returns to mine, and like we can both sense we’re reaching a point of no return, the kiss is sensual, gradually going softer and less insistent. “Ben ...,” she says quietly, her forehead pressed to mine. She’s warning me off, testing to see if I’m going to hold true to my word.

“I know.” Cupping her cheek, I whisper in her ear, “You are amazing, Hope Barlowe.”

When I release her, meeting her eyes once more, her smile is slow, like she’s surprised at my reaction and not sure it’s authentic. “Yeah?” she asks.

“Chaos in a bottle, going wild beneath the lights. Prettiest train wreck I’ve ever seen, covered in your glittery midnight,” I recite reverently, tracing my fingertip over her thigh. Even through jeans, the feeling of her body beneath my touch is addictive.

I don’t know why I do it. I don’t share lyrics with anyone but Sean, but I want her to hear what I was writing today. I’ve nearly got the song finished, and I think we can get away with calling it “Hope” since it’s a word, as well as a name.

“That’s beautiful. Is it ... about me?”

She has no idea. As if it could be about anyone else.

Chapter 13

HOPE

“You sure about this?” Ben asks. “I can drop you off if you’d rather.”

“No,” I say too quickly. He lifts his brows questioningly, probably thinking I’ve gone crazy again. After all, we’re going to my parents’ house, a place where I’ve sworn I live, feel safe, and have no worries about.

Normally, that’d all be true. But they’ve been blowing up my phone since this morning, and when I finally answered, Joy brusquely informed me there’s a family meeting today, and my presence is mandatory.

Apparently, her reassurances that I’m okay and safe have worn paper thin and my parents want answers. Now.

A few days ago, I didn’t have any. I still don’t have all the answers, but I think I can explain myself enough to satisfy them that I haven’t lost my mind completely.

“I want you there, if that’s okay? You might be my emotional-support human at this point,” I tease, picking up his hand from the gear shift and holding it to my heart dramatically. But strangely, it’s true. “We could get you a high-vis vest with a little patch on the chest. Maybe a collar too?”

He chuckles. “That sounds kinkier than you’re implying, but I’m down for it if you are. I’ve definitely never been called anyone’semotional support, though. And nobody’s ever wanted me to meet their parents. Usually quite the opposite, if I’m honest.” He sounds nervous but is still cracking dry jokes for my benefit. There’s no need for him to worry. My parents are great, and I know they’ll love Ben because they love everyone.

Besides, he saved me from the dangers of the forest. That alone will put him at the top of their book. Helping me escape the prison of matrimony? Well, that one I’m not so sure they’ll understand. I’m going to help them understand, though.

“You’re gonna love them,” I promise.

We pull into the driveway of my parents’ home, and I try to see it through Ben’s eyes. It’s nothing fancy, just a typical middle-class ranch house with red brick and ivory trim, about a week out from getting the lawn mowed. The bushes out front have tiny berries on them that attract birds, the light post in the yard hasn’t worked in years, and we’ve played more games of yard hockey out front than I can count. The driveway, which usually holds Dad’s work truck, Mom’s sedan, and my sensible Honda, is currently also occupied by Joy’s Mini Cooper. Shepherd’s stupidly jacked-up truck is parked on the street, literally with the passenger-side tires lifted up and onto the front curb area the way he always does. He says it’s to leave space in the street for cars to pass safely. Joy and I suspect it’s also so that the driver’s side is lower to the ground, because he basically has to hop out of the thing.

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