Page 16 of Searching for Hope

His hands are cupping my head now, his lips pressing kisses to my forehead. His body is heavy on top of mine. His erection presses into my stomach, hot and hard. There’s a tightness in my chest but I don’t know whether it’s from panic or anticipation. Everything inside me is screaming but it’s screaming so loudly I don’t’ know what it’s saying.

“Please.” This time the word is accented by a sob.

He reels back as though I’ve slapped him. “You’re still crying,” he says.

I sit up, reaching for him in the darkness but I can’t find him. “I’m not,” I say, even though my tears prove me to be a liar.

“You are.” His voice is cold now.

“Please.”

“Stop saying please!” he yells. “Just stop it, okay? Stop it.” He’s rustling around the room, looking for his clothing. I hear the swish of denim when he finds his jeans and pulls them over his legs.

“Come back,” I beg, desperate for his touch.

“This is wrong,” he says. “You tricked me just like you tricked him.”

“I’m not trying to trick you.” I scramble off the bed and walk with my arms outstretched toward the sound of him. “Please, come back. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll—”

“I don’t want you to do anything!” he roars. “I don’t want anything from you!”

Something snaps. “Then why am I here?” I scream, all the frustration and anger within me tearing my voice.

The only sound is his heaving breath. I fall to my knees, fear overwhelming me that he will leave me alone once again.

“Please, I didn’t mean that. I’m tired. I was asleep when you came in here and I haven’t woken properly. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything you want.” I search for him in the dark, my hands finally brushing against his smooth chest. I come close, placing my lips next to his ear. “Do you want me to touch you? Make you feel good?” I slide my hand down his stomach. He hasn’t done up the buttons of his jeans yet and my hand dips in easily. He’s still hard and I wrap my fingers around him.

“Does that feel good?” I murmur as I stroke him.

He grunts. It sounds as though he’s in pain, as though he’s fighting his own feelings. “Stop it.” He says the words, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t grab my hand or try to stop me.

I keep stroking, panting seductively into his ear between my tears, provoking the beast. And then he grabs my wrist, yanking it away and hisses, “Lie on the bed.”

His words send a shudder of fear through me. The arousal I felt before is gone. I don’t want him touching me but I don’t want him to leave. He releases his grip and I climb onto the bed.

“On your back,” he growls.

I gasp when his hand wraps around my ankle. He slowly slides up my leg, inch by inch, rising further and further. “Sometimes it feels like torture coming to see you. Sometimes it hurts so bad. You’re an evil, evil woman,” he hisses. “A temptress. A jezebel. A whore.”

He’s reached the top of my thigh now and he slides his hand between my legs, pushing them apart. The springs groan when he climbs onto the bed and nestles between my thighs. His breath washes over me, coating me in warmth. A trickle of moisture wells between my legs and I squeeze my eyes shut.

He inhales deeply as he spreads me, his nose running between my exposed folds. I shudder and moan as my hands fist the blanket.

“I’ll tell him this was all your doing,” he mutters. “Temptation. The original sin.”

And then his tongue is on me and it feels as though electricity courses through my body, igniting it, setting it alight with desire. He works with skills that deny previous claims. This can’t possibly be the first time he’s done this. I gasp and moan, the sensations welling up so quickly I’m going to come undone after a few masterful strokes.

As if sensing my impending release, he sits up, leaving me just on the edge.

“Please,” I beg him.

“There goes that word again,” he says. “Please,” he begs, mimicking me. “Always with the please.”

“You can’t leave me like this.” It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to release, the sensation feels like a knife, it’s so painful.

There’s rustling. He’s searching for something in his bag.

“If you don’t finish me, I’ll just have to do it myself,” I taunt.

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