Page 52 of Searching for Hope

And then I feel him at my entrance. He’s hard and ready and I’m so wet. As soon as he pushes inside, I come. It’s violent and engulfs me in a wave of pleasure so brutal, I scream. He covers my mouth with his hand, choking any sound and I collapse, drained, and spent. The violence of my orgasm surprised me. I didn’t think it possible to come so quickly.

But Jericho isn’t done with me. He grips my hips, hoisting them up and holding me in place as he starts to fuck me. He’s slow and constant and I try to squirm away, feeling too sensitive and still coming down from my high.

“Be still,” he orders, and I stop wriggling, submitting to his thrusts.

He fucks me hard. So hard that I begin to regret taunting him. He’s relentless. My body shudders with each sharp thrust of his hips. My chest is crushed into the floor. The carpet burns my cheek and jaw. But still, he fucks me harder.

I grunt with each thrust. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me steadfast so I don’t crumble beneath him. His hand runs up my back, following the line of my spine until his fingers wind into my hair and he jerks my head back.

I gasp as the feeling of being claimed by him, used by him, starts the coil of desire once again. He increases his pace, and the repetitiveness, the constant friction causes me to clench around him unexpectedly, and I come for the second time as he spurts inside me. He presses against my spent body as I fall to pieces beneath him, the last convulses of his orgasm ripping through him. He stays like that, collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily, until the thud of his heart slows. When he withdraws, he stands over me as I lie motionless and satiated on the floor.

The restlessness has gone. The tightness in my chest, the rapid beating of my heart. My head, my thoughts are empty. I’ve been chastised by a fuck.

He runs his hands through his hair before bending down and picking me up off the floor. Carrying me in his arms, he lays me on the bed before climbing in and wrapping me in his arms. I fall asleep with my head pressed to his chest and the steady beat of his heart reverberating in my ear.

HOPE

HOPE

“It’s time for you to stop sulking.”

A steaming plate of stew and dumplings is placed before me. It smells divine, as though it were sent from heaven. The food of angels. Even though I’m starving, I resist the urge to scoop it up, and instead roll over on the bed, facing the wall instead of him.

He sighs. “I swear I didn’t know he was going to do that to you.” A hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Previously, I would have jerked away, or snuggled closer depending on what I thought I could get. But today, I don’t move. I don’t care.

I’ve abandoned hope.

“It’s been days since you’ve had anything to eat. Just try a little.” I hear the clatter of the spoon against the bowl. “It’s delicious, see?” He slurps and adds an exaggerated, “Yum.”

The bowl is placed back on the shelf.

Another sigh. “Fine, suit yourself.”

Footsteps retreat.

“You know I can’t tell you anything about her so there’s no point in keeping this up.” A deep breath. “I can’t tell you anything about her because I don’t know anything. I’m just as in the dark as you are.”

He waits at the gate in the fence, his fingers rattling the wire. I keep my gaze fixed on the concrete wall. “It won’t be much longer now,” he says. It’s so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

There’s a part of me, a very small part, deep, deep down that wants to react to this comment. It leaps, searching for light in a darkened space, but I crush it back down. There’s no point. He’s made it clear he can’t or won’t give me any of the information I want.

For years I tried to forget her, tried not to think about her. It hurt too much. But now, I can’t get her out of my head. I lie in my bed imagining what she might look like now. When she was a toddler, she had almost white-blonde hair. It was fine and wispy. It curled around her face like a halo of golden ringlets. It would have darkened by now. Mine did. It deepened as I got older, changing the curls of ashen gold to something dirtier and darker.

Does she look like me?

Does she have a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles?

For days I begged him to tell me about her, to tell me who the person is who thinks I’m dead, who the visitor was, who he is. But he refuses to give me any answers. I pleaded and I begged. I got on my knees and cried. I tried to seduce him. I tried to scare him. I did everything within my power, but it was useless. So in the end I did the only thing left as an option. Nothing.

I stopped eating.

I stopped talking.

I stopped caring.

My little routine of life ceased to exist and instead I lay on the bed, the hours melding into each other until I lost all sense of time. I might have been lying here months but according to him, it’s only been days.

My stomach cramps. I’m cold. The scent of the meal wafts over to me, tempting me, but I’m determined to resist.

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