Page 24 of Among the Sins of my Father

“Did you kill him?” I yell.

My heart thuds so hard it hurts. My skin prickles with fear or anticipation or excitement. But he just keeps stalking forward, hunting me like prey.

“Why won’t you answer me?” My voice breaks this time. I walk so far across the room, I back into the piano.

“Because you don’t really want to know the answer. You don’t want to know the truth of who I am.”

“Yes, yes, I do.” I lift my chin even though it trembles.

He leans forward, brushing my hair behind my ear before growling quietly. “What do you want me to say?” He bites my earlobe gently, sending a shot of lust into my core. “Do you want me to say no? Do you want me to say I never hurt a hair on that boy’s head, that he was so miserable, so filled with regret that he took his own life? Do you want me to say all that so you can fuck me without guilt? Or do you want me to say yes, so you have an excuse to fuck me like you hate me?”

I shudder as waves of lurid desire crash over me, drowning out my senses, my mind. Everything but him.

I hate that he does this. I hate that he challenges me, pushes me, insults me, and yet all I do is come back for more.

“Tell me to leave and I will.” His voice is a growl.

But I don’t. Because I don’t want him to. I want him to claim me, dominate me. I want him to make me forget everything.

I love that he does this. I love that he challenges me, pushes me, insults me, and leaves me yearning for more.

I close my eyes as he hisses in my ear. “It’s your turn to tell the truth now, Berkley. So what will it be?”

He turns dark eyes filled with euphoric ferocity on me. He towers over me, hands pressed to the piano at my back, caging me in. With a surge of aggression, I lift my leg and knee him in the groin. He winces, but then his eyes narrow and a true tremor of terror ripples through me.

“As you wish,” he says, grabbing me by the back of the neck again and crushing his mouth against mine.

Our movements become a tug of war. Back and forth. Attacking and retreating. Each time I try to run away, he drags me back, and I melt against his mouth once again. We battle, tearing at each other’s clothes, scraping our nails over each other’s flesh. His hand fists in my hair, holding me in place as his tongue runs over my neck and jaw. I flail wildly until the buttons of his shirt spill onto the floor.

Jericho lets me go long enough to tear his shirt off. I don’t go anywhere. I wait with heaving breath until he comes at me again, confused by the range of emotions colliding within. He lifts me, taking me away from the piano and pins me against the wall. Our mouths fight for dominance. I wind my fingers into his hair and tug hard. He moans and presses against me harder, so hard I find it difficult to breathe.

“My god, Berkley. You drive me insane,” he growls, nipping at my bottom lip, biting down until I feel the metallic taste of blood seep into my mouth.

But I can’t pull away.

I can’t escape him.

I don’t want to.

He claws at my breasts, his mouth falling to follow suit when his hands tear at my leggings. He rips them from me, the pressure cutting into my flesh before tossing them aside, leaving nothing between us. He fumbles desperately with his pants, dropping them to the floor before plunging inside me.

The air leaves my lungs.

He’s vicious and feral and savage. There’s nothing I can do but cling to him as he drives inside, thrusting with all the frustration and anger that ripples through his body. I press my hands to his chest, trying to push him away even though I only want him closer. He just holds me firmer as grunts of aggression spill from his lips.

Tears gather, but they’re not tears of sadness or pain. They’re tears of relief, tears of anguish, and tears of need. It’s like Jericho looks into the darkest recesses of my soul and knows what I want, what I need, even before I do.

All the fight leaves me, and I become nothing more than a ragdoll, tossed by Jericho’s demented thrusts. The friction of my damp skin against the wall brings knife blades of pain that only make me wetter. Lifting limp hands, I wrap them around his neck, holding on as though my life depends on it.

He does nothing but use my body for his own pleasure, but it’s what I need. I want my body sore and my mind empty.

“What is it you want from me, Berkley?” he growls, his words accented by grunts as he continues to thrust into me.

“You,” I sob. “Just you.”

He slows, grinding his hips in a circle rather than driving into me. Tilting my chin up, he forces me to look into his dark eyes.

“You have me. You’ll always have me.”

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