Page 30 of Searching for Hope

I feel both powerful and weak. Weak to his attention, weak to his desire, powerful in knowing the slow unraveling of his control is because of me.

He gets faster, propping himself with one hand, while still using the other to trap my wrists and stop me from touching him. His body is bathed in the light of the moon. It’s filtered through the stained-glass window turning his skin into a kaleidoscope of color. I want to run my hands over his torso, touch every cell of his skin, but I can’t.

It’s beautiful torture.

The more he thrusts inside me, the more he loses himself. His eyes turn to the color of the night sky again. They bore down on me relentlessly, heightening the connection between us. He drives into me ruthlessly until I can’t take it anymore. My whimpers and moans turn to grunts and pants. I cry out at the height of each thrust until something primal and deep coils within me and bursts, eliciting a scream as I detonate and explode beneath him.

He becomes frenzied, thrusting into me with wild abandon. I’m barely aware of anything but the feel of him inside me as I clench around him, pulsing with each wave of ecstasy that crashes. He thrusts one final time, the threads of his neck straining, and releases. I feel each pulse, each twitch and throb.

And then he collapses over me, his hand finally letting go of my wrists. I leave them spread on the bed high above me, too exhausted to contemplate moving. Jericho’s mouth finds mine, and he kisses me lazily, a smile playing at the corners of his lip. I don’t know where he gets the strength to smile. All I can manage is to breathe.

chapter eleven

BERKLEY

Jericho stands at the window, the light of the moon silhouetting his naked body. He’s perfection in the flesh. I can’t stop looking at him, watching him.

Slipping off the bed, I pad up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head against his shoulder blade. It’s the wee hours of the morning. The wind and the rain have long stopped, and the world almost looks at peace. The sky is the dark gray color of pre-dawn, a glow of warmth between the trees hinting at the impending rise of new day.

Jericho waited only minutes before sinking back into me after the first time. It was tender and sweet, but also raw and primal. It was like we needed to expend the pent-up frustration and agony of denial. We moved together, coming undone time and time again until we both lay on the bed, depleted and content.

Now, with my ear pressed to his skin, I can hear the steady beat of his heart. My arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. His flesh is soft and warm. Despite our frenzied fucking, I’m yet to explore his body like I want.

His room is at the pinnacle of the Sanctuary. Out the window you can just see the corner of the ledge where I’d climbed to escape. The one where the original lady of the house supposedly plunged to her death.

“Why do you think she did it?” I ask, thinking out loud.

“Why did who do what?” His voice rumbles deep and low through his chest.

“His wife. The woman who this place was built for. Barrett told me about it when I first arrived.”

“I’ve wondered the same thing myself.” I keep my cheek pressed to his shoulder blade as he speaks. There’s something calming about the deep reverberations of his voice. “I’ve dug through old paper clippings trying to find the answer, but there’s not much. They hadn’t lived here long, only parts of the Sanctuary were complete. It was said that she was lonely out here. Too isolated and cut off from the world. She was used to the city life, the hustle and bustle. One article mentioned failed pregnancies. Another said he was cruel to her. I guess we’ll never know the full truth.”

His hands move over mine, and he takes one, tugging me around in front of him. He encircles me from behind, his strong body cocooning me as we both stare out the window at the landscape below. We’re so high up, you can see everything. Even a glimpse of the lights either side of the iron gates leading onto the estate.

Jericho lowers his head so his chin rests on my shoulder. “Can I ask you something?” he says quietly. It’s like he doesn’t want to disturb the stillness of the early morning.

“Anything.”

There are no parts of myself I need to hide from this man. He knows all the worst parts of me, all the hidden darkness and he still wants me.

“Will you tell me about the flashes?”

I tense in his arms. His question surprises me. I know he knew of my flashes, the files my therapist sent him told him as much. I’m just not used to hearing it spoken about from the lips of another. It is an unseen part of me.

“Your therapist,” he says, attempting to explain the reason he knows about my deepest and darkest secret.

I sigh and pull away from him. “It seems like there’s not a lot you don’t know about me.”

Untangling myself, I collect my t-shirt from where Jericho tossed it earlier. Shrugging it over my head, I climb onto the bed, suddenly feeling weary. I prop myself against the headboard, readying to watch the rise of the sun. Jericho sits next to me, his arm moving over my shoulders, pulling me against him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and breathes as though he’s attempting to inhale the memory of me. I feel safe. Secure. I feel as though I could lay here exposed and trust him with every second that passes.

“They started not long after I was shot,” I say, trying not to let too much emotion seep into my tone.

“By your brother.”

“My half-brother,” I correct. “The bad one.” I laugh at the simplicity of my description. I have two half-brothers. One good, the other bad and also a mixture of both. “I don’t really remember much of it. It’s like my brain just blocked it out. I only know what I’ve been told. He shot me while we were trying to escape. Apparently, I had the gun first, though I don’t even remember that, but he managed to get it off me somehow and I got shot here.” I pull the neck of my t-shirt to the side, exposing the jagged and twisted scar on my shoulder. Jericho lowers his head and I close my eyes as his lips brush over it softly. Even though it doesn’t hurt, it still feels strange. As though the skin around it is still numb, as though it’s dead somehow and not meant to be part of me anymore. I tug the shirt back over the scar.

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