Page 63 of Searching for Hope

I nod again. I don’t trust myself to speak. Not yet. I’m too filled with need. Every fragment of my being is intimately aware of him. It’s like I’m somehow suspended by want. His flesh burns beneath me. I drag my body down his, nestling over his hips. He draws in a ragged breath as his cock presses against me, held captive by the material of his pants. I wonder if he can feel the heat of me. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, taking me back to the moment in the flash that crashed over me, as his eyes rake their way back up my body.

“Tell me,” he growls.

Color flames my cheeks again. “It wasn’t really even dark or anything.”

His grip increases, urging me forward, closer to him. I lay over his chest, my mouth hovering dangerously close to his.

“Tell me.” His lips almost scrape over mine as he speaks. His breath is warm. The scent of whiskey is still there, but now I want to drown in it.

I swallow then lick my lips, my mouth dry. Pressing against his chest, I lift myself again so I can look him in the eye. “I was riding you.”

His jaw clenches and his eyes close as though he’s trying to resist something unseen. His cock surges beneath me. He steels himself, pulling his gaze back to mine.

“And I was right…” I reach down and undo a button. “Right there. Right on the edge.” I pluck another and another, tugging his shirt apart with more force. “I was ready to fall apart and it felt so good.”

Jericho groans as I press my lips to his chest. I follow the pattern of the feathers down his arm, tugging his shirt away bit by bit then tossing it to the floor. Trailing my tongue down his torso, I scoot down his legs as I push the waistband of his pants over his hips. He lifts, twisting and turning to help me discard them. And then he’s naked before me. Strong, hard, jutting into the air proudly.

“To answer your question,” I say, my mouth hovering so close his cock jerks under the heat of my breath. “Yes, I want you.”

It’s the need that has me clawing at my clothes, tossing them aside as he covers himself and positions my hips over his. The need to have him inside me. To be filled by him. To feel the steel-like hardness of him. I grip his shoulders, pressing my forehead to his, and moan when I sink onto him. It is both a sigh of relief and a convulsion of arousal. I clench around him, my body collapsing enough that I have to press my hands to his chest for support.

Jericho’s hands are back on my hips. The way he looks at me is filled with longing, the same longing that’s inside me. Our connection makes me feel complete, as though a part of me was missing and now it’s found.

With my hands planted on his chest, I grind against him, letting myself get lost in the sensation. My head falls back, my breasts protruding, daring him to touch me.

“My god, Berkley.” His rough hands cup my breasts. He squeezes and strokes. “You’re so fucking perfect.” Lifting his hips, he pushes into me further.

I gasp as sparks shoot. One hand runs up my chest, cupping my throat before dipping his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them hungrily as he twists my nipple. His fingers push further, and I gag as he brushes the back of my throat. Jericho hisses and convolves as the movement forces me to clench around him. His fingers fall out of my mouth and slide down my neck. He holds me loosely, one hand pinching my nipple, the other locked around my throat. I push myself toward him, welcoming the pain. He bites his bottom lip, and moves beneath me, allowing himself more room to thrust.

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I push his hand tighter, leaning into the pressure. His eyes widen, igniting with lust. He twists my nipple harder and it triggers something, something violent and unearthly, something that builds and rises in pressure until I’m unsure if I’m overwhelmed by pleasure or pain. Stars burst in my vision and I cry out, my body taut and tight, electrified by a million shards of rapture.

And then I collapse over him, the force of his orgasm pulsing within. His heartbeat thuds in my ear, matching the racing rhythm of my own. I am spent. Lifeless. There’s not one part of me that isn’t filled with both exhaustion and satisfaction.

Jericho presses his lips to the top of my head, peppering my scalp in kisses. He adjusts his hips, sliding out of me. I’m barely awake as he lifts me from the sofa and pads across the floor to the bed. He lays me down in a pool of moonlight. A shudder runs through me at his absence, but then he slides under the sheets, pulling me onto him. I’m spread across his chest, clinging to him as sleep overtakes me.

chapter twenty-two

JERICHO

I wake with her sprawled across me. Her head rests on my chest, her naked torso pressed to mine. One leg is hooked over my hip, her foot falling between my legs. Her hair is strewn over my shoulder. The rise and fall of her chest is soothing.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this. I’ve felt duty, responsibility, affection, but not this. The pull of Berkley is magnetic. I never want to leave. I want to watch her smile and laugh. I want to hold her when she cries and needs comfort. I want her eyes to light just at the sight of me. I want to be the one who hears her pants and moans. I want to be the only witness to the heat that flushes her body when she comes.

But with all these feelings comes guilt. I never considered falling for Berkley a possibility. I never planned for it. How could I? Before her, I had no idea I could feel the surge of possessiveness that swells when she’s in my arms.

Or the guilt that comes when I think of Hope.

How would she feel knowing I’ve found comfort in the arms of another? Especially the daughter of the man who kept her captive. I haven’t felt any guilt for other sexual encounters. There was no point. They were physical. Nothing else. I only feel guilt with Berkley because I know it is more. She is the other part of my soul.

I’m torn between loyalty and love.

Berkley stirs. At first I think she is waking, but she’s still asleep, her eyes pressed closed. There’s a frown between her brows and her fingers twitch. Her breathing increases and her skin grows hot. Her head jerks back and forth against my chest and her body begins to tremble.

“Berkley,” I whisper, attempting to rouse her out of her dream-laden sleep. “Berkley, wake up.”

She wakes with a start, eyes springing open. With her chest still pressed to mine I can feel the heavy pounding of her heart. Her body is stiff and tense as she takes a few ragged breaths before relaxing against me.

“You were dreaming,” I say.

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