Page 67 of Searching for Hope

He smiles and he grins, clapping people on the back, engaging in conversation, laughing loudly. It’s strange to see this side of him. The side he presents to the world. This version of Jericho is confident and cool, filled with swagger. His smile is quick, his conversation easy. It’s the light to his dark, or maybe the other way around.

I don’t hear a word of what Monique says as he slowly manages to make his way over. She only notices he’s there when he cuts between us, cupping my cheeks and pressing a kiss to my lips.

“Holy fucking shit.” Monique makes no effort to hide the way her eyes rake over Jericho. “Were you this hot last time? I swear I would have danced better if I’d known you were on the cards.” She stumbles forward, pressing between Jericho and I and laying her hand on his chest.

“Are you fucking him?” She looks to me incredulously. “Way to go little Frankenstein.”

“Do you know this woman?” Jericho peels her hands off his chest.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Unfortunately?” Monique scoffs. “We danced together.” She leans into Jericho. “Would you like to see? We could do a private dance, just for you,” she tries to say it seductively, but instead she slurs the words.

“Do I need to call security?” Jericho gives the manager a look over the bar.

“Sheesh, no need to go all commando on me. Mind you,” she leans close and attempts to whisper in my ear but ends up shouting, “there’s something kind of hot about being told what to do, isn’t there?” She moves back to face Jericho and sways. “Or would you prefer a one on one?” She walks her fingers up his chest.

Succumbing to my jealousy, I grab her wrist and jerk her hand away. “He’s mine,” I hiss. “Don’t touch.”

She blinks a few times, swaying as I hold onto her by the wrist and then reaches out far quicker than I thought her capable of in the moment and yanks a chunk of my hair.

“Hey!” I shove her and she falls backward, her butt hitting the ground. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

She flounders on the floor before finding her feet and rushing back. She goes for my hair again, fingers flailing to get a grasp, but she can’t and I shove her away again. She doesn’t fall this time. She reaches out and grabs one of the barstools, managing to hold herself upright just in time for security to come and take her away.

“I bet you don’t even know who she fucking is!” she screams in Jericho’s direction as the bouncer drags her away. “She’s the daughter of a fucking monster!”

I’m shaking a little when I turn to Jericho. He’s glaring at me, his eyes dark, his breath heavy.

“I didn’t mean to—”

He grabs my hand, dragging me behind the bar and through a door into what I assume is the manager’s office.

“I didn’t mean—”

I’m shoved against the door and his mouth descends on mine viciously. His kiss is savage. His teeth tear at my lips. His hands claw at my breasts. He’s feral and wild.

He wrenches his mouth away. His eyes dart between mine. “Say it again,” he commands.

“Say what?” He’s taken the breath from me.

“Say I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” I pant.

His mouth crashes into mine again. His need ignites my own and we become feverish, clawing at each other. He hoists my dress up and over my thighs. I fumble with the buttons of his pants, lowering the zipper, and pushing them over his hips. Grabbing the material of my underwear, he rips it away leaving red marks in his wake. I grunt as he plunges into me. There’s no caution, no gentleness in his movements. He’s desperate and reckless, not caring than an entire club full of people are on the other side of the door. I’m crushed against the hard wood, clambering to get my legs around his hips, needing something to cling to during his assault. He holds me, gripping my thighs as I weave my hands to the back of his neck. Taking my weight in his arms, he lifts me from where I’m pressed to the door, and walks, still plunged inside me, over to the desk, lowering me as he wipes it clean with one sweep of his arm. My legs lock around his waist as I flop back against the cold table of the desk. The material of my dress skids across the surface with each thrust of his hips. He holds me in place as his pace increases. It’s a merciless fuck. He’s relentless.

He pulls out just before his release. Warmth hits my thigh in spurts, and it triggers my own release. I cry out, overwhelmed by the suddenness and the ferociousness of it.

Jericho slumps over me, chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he curses, a wicked smirk creeping across his face. “I had no idea that you getting jealous would turn me on like that.”

His eyes travel over my body and our surroundings. He takes in the disheveled state of me. The dark welts from the pressure of his grip. The flame of red up my neck from the heat of my arousal. The torn and discarded underwear. The smeared mess on my thigh. The papers and pens scattered over the floor.

And then he laughs. “I think we might need to reassemble you before we head over to the Gormans.”

I’m lying on the desk, the skirt of my dress around my waist, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. “I’m not sure it’s possible.” I’m still coming down from my high.

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