Page 50 of Searching for Hope

I shudder at the sound of his voice. It’s so delicious when he goes dark. It’s like gravel, so low and guttural.

“What are you going to do? Tie me to the bed? Lock me in the bathroom?”

He steps forward. “Go to bed. Now.”

I laugh, coming even closer than he dared and glare up at him. “Who are you to tell me what to do? You’re no one to me, Jericho Priest. No one.” I feel the same as I did on the rooftop. Invincible. Bold. Fearless.

“That’s not true. And you know it.” He’s so close now I can feel the heat of him. His eyes don’t know where to focus. They flick over me, studying my eyes, my mouth, dropping down to my breasts and scanning over my exposed flesh. His jaw is clenched and that little vein under his eye is pulsing again, making me wonder if I would feel the flow of his blood if I licked it.

My insides explode in a confusion of hormones. I want to hit him. I want to kiss him. I want to shove him as hard as I can at the same time as pulling him tight and melding myself so close we become one. I want to devour and destroy.

As well as being the person I want the most, he’s also the person who lied. Who held me captive. Who was prepared to make me pay for the sins of my father. Who regarded me as nothing but the daughter of a monster.

He just stands there. Strong. Immovable. His dark eyes trained on me so desperately it feels as though it would devastate him to lose sight of me.

Slowly, while making sure I lock my gaze with his, I reach behind and undo the ties of my bikini top. The strip of material falls to the ground. His eyes dart down, then up, locking back onto mine with just that little bit more darkness. Threads of blue mutate to black.

I turn, and walk away, leisurely lowering the bottoms of my bikini.

“What are you doing?” Jericho’s voice is hoarse and raw.

I let my bikini bottom fall to the ground and step through them. “I’m going to bed, just like you told me to.”

“Berkley,” he growls, and that shudder runs through me again.

I toss my still wet hair over my shoulder, looking back at him. “Jericho,” I mimic, pretending to frown.

“Stop playing games.”

“Who me?” I turn around, blinking innocently.

But I am not innocent. I know exactly what I’m doing. Despite everything, I want him. And it’s a cruel punishment wanting the thing you shouldn’t. I saunter over, pressing against his side and running my hand over his chest as he remains immovable as a rock, trying his best to resist me.

“I’m not the one who’s playing games.”

I run my hand down his stomach and over the bulge that’s formed in his pants. He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. Then I push him away, surprising him, and he stumbles, only to quickly recover and stride back. He presses himself against me, chest inflated.

“Berkley, we—”

I shove him again but this time he barely moves. He’s ready for it. One brow flicks up and his lip twitches.

“You’re drunk. You’re not in a state to be—”

He hisses as I dip my hand into his pants and stroke him. He’s hard as steel and soft as velvet. I lift my head, rubbing my lips over his cheek as I talk.

“Such the gentleman,” I tease.

His hand flies to my throat. I swallow under the pressure, relishing the sparks of arousal which shoot through me.

“Don’t do this.” His voice is low and commanding. He’s not pleading this time. He’s threatening.

I push against his grip. “Or what?”

His lip twitches again. “Fuck, Berkley.” He presses his forehead against mine, his fingers still loosely around my throat.

I’m playing with fire.

I’m taunting the devil.

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