Page 64 of Searching for Hope

“I know.” Her voice is faint. Her fingers dig into my skin as though attempting to cling onto me. I tighten my grip of her, knowing she feels reassurance that I’m here.

“Nightmare?”

She nods, her cheek rubbing against my chest.

“It wasn’t me, was it?” I ask. There’s always this fear inside me, a fear that I’m just as bad for her as the other men in her life. The fear that I know I should let her go. That she’d be better off without me.

“No. It was him. My father.” She sits up a little, drawing the sheets to her chest and covering herself. “I have the dream often. It’s become so real to me that it feels like a memory or a premonition more than a dream. Something that happened long ago or is going to happen. That sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

I reach for her, pulling her back to my chest. I like the feeling of her close. I like the feeling of her naked flesh pressed to mine. It brings me a sense of comfort. I can only hope it does the same for her.

“Tell me about it.”

“We’re in a cell,” she says. Her words are quiet yet haunting. Tendrils of sleep lurk around the edges, deepening the usual tone of her voice. “There’s a girl. She’s naked and so skinny. She’s terrified of something and, at first, I think it’s me, but then I see my father. He beats her and I try to stop him, but I can’t. It’s like I’m invisible. I try to push him away, but I just fall through him as though I’m a ghost. Or maybe he’s the ghost. I plead with him, but he can’t hear me, or he won’t hear me. The girl is so scared, so frightened and there’s nothing I can do to help her. I just have to watch.”

A tear falls to my chest. Leaning down, I press a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay. It’s only a dream. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. He’s the one trapped in a cell.”

Her body lurches against mine as she cries. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pathetic to cry over a dream.”

“Shh. It’s not. Nothing about you is pathetic.”

I hold her close until her breathing returns to normal and her tears dry. Her hand slides over my chest. When she blinks I feel the flutter of her eyelashes against my skin. She turns her head, pressing her lips to me before twisting and stretching, her flesh rubbing against mine and causing my cock to stiffen. And then she settles back, nestling into the same position as before. Lifting her hand, she starts to drag her nails in circles around my nipple, teasing in their softness. Her warm breaths skitters over my flesh as she keeps up her torment, dragging her nails down the side of my body, pushing the covers away. She just stops with her hand resting on my thigh and adjusts the angle of her chin, staring down at me. I swell under her gaze to the point of pain.

I crave her touch, her fingers dancing over my skin, the feel of her tongue on my flesh, but she continues tormenting me with her nails. She drags them heavily down my leg and then up the inside of my thigh until I hiss and squirm under her touch. When she finally wraps her hand around my cock she lets out a little sigh and the sound causes me to lose all patience.

Grabbing her, I toss her under me in one smooth motion, stopping for a moment to take in the perfection of her. She’s so small lying beneath me. I could crush her, destroy her, but despite that, she looks at me with absolute adoration and trust. Passion and desire and longing all mix together to form a storm in the gray of her eyes. It’s the most beautiful fucking thing in the world.

I trail desperate kisses over her jaw, her collarbones, down her chest, and to the lush flesh of her breast. I’m frenzied and wild, needing to devour as much of her as possible. It’s an inescapable need. The sounds that fall from her urge me on, encouraging my desperation.

Her nipple is hard when I take it in my mouth. I tease it with my tongue, swirling around and around until she writhes on the bed, her back arching, her head rolling back, her neck exposed.

I travel further and further down her body until the heat of her is before me. One lick is all it takes to remind me I’m obsessed. She’s like honey, sweet and delicious. I push her legs apart, needing to be closer. Holding her still, I taste her at my leisure, running my tongue ever so slowly over her folds. Lifting my hands up her body, I massage her breasts. She thrashes and moans as I intensify the lashing of my tongue. Her thighs clench, wrapping around my head as she bucks off the mattress.

“Jericho,” she moans just as the constriction of her thighs increases and she cries out, pushing her hands into my hair and scraping her nails over my scalp. The steel of my cock somehow hardens more at her aggression. The need to plunge inside her is strong, but the need to taste her as she comes undone is stronger. I dig my fingers into her hips, sucking at her until she lets out a wail, her body tensing and rising off the mattress before collapsing, as she gasps and pants.

I don’t give her any time to recover before I cover myself and push my hips between her legs, gripping her chin and forcing her to look straight at me as I slide inside her. I do it slowly, relishing the tightness as she clamps around me.

She bites her lower lip, closing her eyes and quietly uttering, “Fuck,” as I push inside.

“Look at me,” I command.

Her eyes snap open.

Our bodies fit together perfectly as I grind my hips, pushing a little further with each rotation. She clutches my back and her legs lift to lock around me. Letting go of her chin, I grab a fistful of her hair, tugging sharply to expose the pillar of her neck. I suck on the tender flesh as I begin to piston my hips, driving harder inside her with each push. A small gush of air escapes her with each thrust. She clings to me desperately, holding on as I drive into her harder, faster.

I keep up a maddening rhythm, each thrust sending me closer and closer to heaven. I push deeper as her nails dig into my back. And then, everything overwhelms me—the feeling of being inside her, her gentle moans and grunts, the way she clings to me as though trying to crawl under my skin—and my body tightens, releasing pulse after pulse.

It’s mid-morning before I find the strength to pull myself away. Barrett is already in my office waiting.

“Have a good evening, sir?” he asks.

I flick a glance his way before sitting down at my desk and firing up the computers. “I told you not to do that.”

“Actually, you told me not to salute you,” he smirks and adds, “sir.”

I roll my eyes and then focus on the stream of emails loading on my account. The bold subject lines stick out, most of them looking for money. Money I don’t have. Money I need to earn or win.

“How is our guest?”

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