Page 17 of Searching for Hope

Suddenly his hands are on me, flipping me over onto my stomach. His knee presses into the small of my back as he tugs on my wrist. “You’re a lying, conniving witch.”

“I’m not,” I plead, my words muffled by the mattress. “Every time you leave my heart breaks.” And sadly I’m not lying.

He stops moving. The pressure of his knee decreases. Then rope is being tied around my wrists, fastening them securely behind my back.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I beg. “Please, I’m not. I want you. I need you.”

I’m sobbing freely now and he grabs my arm, twisting me onto my back. Ripping my legs open, his mouth descends on me again. Instantly I’m transported back to that place of imminent release. I pant, twisting under his attention.

I gasp as the wave begins to roll, the desire surging within me ready to crash and shatter against the rocks. But he pulls away again, footsteps retreating in the dark until I hear the swing of the gate.

“You can’t leave me like this!”

“You don’t deserve anything more,” he says.

The door opens. Wind howls. Rain lashes.

And then he’s gone.

chapter six

BERKLEY

“How well do you actually know this Michael Gorman?”

Jericho and I are on our way to the Gorman home. I haven’t been there in years. The last time I went, Michael and I snuck outside while the adults drank champagne, and we had our own party, lying on the surface of their massive trampoline, staring up at the stars, smoking weed and talking shit. It seemed so exciting back then. So rebellious. Little did I know our crimes paled in comparison to our fathers’.

“I know him well enough,” I say.

Unlike the last time we were in the back of the car, Jericho’s body is turned toward mine. His back rests against the door and one leg is extended, almost brushing against my knee. He’s dressed in a black shirt and black dress pants. As usual, his shirt is open at the throat and the glimpse of that dip between his collarbones is distracting me. Again. His hair has been slicked back from his face, but his chin is still covered in stubble, as though he can’t quite bring himself to be fully groomed.

“How well?” Jericho prompts.

I smirk. “Better than you knew what was going to happen at that party last night.” Jericho narrows his glare. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you.” I sigh dramatically. “The Gormans were close family friends of my father’s. The type that used to have each other over for dinners, went on vacations together, that sort of thing. Mr Gorman and my father were the closest, it was their friendship that the interaction revolved around. I knew of Michael, but I didn’t have too much to do with him, as back then I wasn’t acknowledged as part of the family. I was just the kid they were generously helping out. But when I started boarding school, Michael was there to show me the ropes and keep an eye out for me. We became friends. That’s how well I know him.”

Jericho lifts a brow. “Friends? Just friends?”

“I don’t see what difference it makes.”

He shifts, adjusting the angle of his body as he quickly scans the city outside the window. “It makes a difference to me.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Michael was my first.”

His fist clenches even though his eyes remain fixed on the landscape. “First what?”

When I don’t answer straight away, he turns, and I look him straight in the eye.

“First everything.”

I’m a little appalled at the thrill that runs through me when Jericho’s eyes light with anger. His body tenses and he grits his teeth, the bulge of his jaw flexing. The knuckles of his fist turn white.

“And that is the reason for this?” His eyes roam over my body accusatorily.

Admittedly, I went shopping for the occasion. My dress sense has changed a lot from when I was friendly with the Gormans. Mainly because my access to funds was severely altered. I used to wear all the latest brands and styles. Now I wouldn’t even know what they were. The outfit I’ve chosen for the night reflects a little more on my old dress sense, which was also more feminine than my current tastes. I’m wearing a powder blue dress. The shift is covered in tulle. Flowers have been stitched into the lace over the bodice. It’s sleeveless, with a v-neckline, but still serves to come across as innocent and sweet. I need them to remember me as the person I was and not the person I’ve become.

“You don’t like it?”

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