Page 8 of Among the Sins of my Father

Jericho’s stance straightens. It’s like he grows inches as he takes in a breath and lifts his shoulders, towering over me. “I’m not going to let you do this to us, Berkley.”

He moves past me to the door and twists the lock shut. It makes a loud sound in the barrenness of the room.

“Get undressed,” he growls.

“I’m not going to—”

He takes my fingers, just my fingers, toying with them before looking into my eyes and repeating the words. “Get undressed.” He leans close as he says it, his breath washing over my ear. “Then kneel and wait.”

The commands alone bring a sense of relief. The twisting in my gut stops. Obey or rebel. The choice is easy. He’s recognized the mangled indecision within me.

He’s taking control.

chapter four

BERKLEY

My fingers tremble as I take the hem of my sweater and lift it over my head. He nods once, moving past me and flicking off the lights, leaving only the light of the moon filtering in through the windows. Then he leans against the mirrored wall, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. He stays like that as I undress, my heartbeat rising with each movement.

My leggings come off next. I peel them from my skin slowly, aware of his eyes watching my every move. I’m left in nothing but my underwear. In the mirror my skin glows in the light of the moon. One side of me is illuminated while the other is hidden in shadows.

“Keep going,” Jericho instructs. His voice is thick and deep, almost another growl. The desire to press my legs together, to drown in the sensations he’s causing to run through my body is strong, but instead, I do as he says, reaching behind me to undo the clasps of my bra and then slide my underwear over my hips, stepping out of them and tossing them away.

He just stares at me for a while, his eyes running over my body and igniting my skin, licking it with fire. There’s a low vibration trembling deep inside. I don’t know whether it’s anticipation or foreboding. All I know is I like it. I like that he’s taken control. That I’m under his command. My mind quiets. My stomach stops twisting. But my heartbeat keeps beating rapidly.

“Kneel.” His voice is deeper this time. Almost broken.

I lower myself slowly until the cold wood kisses my knees. I sit back, pressing my butt to my heels. My hair flows loose and long, tickling my shoulder blades. I feel every cell of my being as Jericho pulls himself from the wall and slowly stalks toward me.

My hands are resting on my lap, but they are not still. I am not still. I’m quivering, trembling in anticipation of him. I push my hair behind my ear and place my hand back on my lap. Jericho is behind me now. He walks slowly and with purpose, inspecting me as I kneel in silence. I squirm, moving the placement of myself over my heels. I’m certain he must be able to hear the rapid beat of my heart. It’s a rhythm track to my need. Pulsing. Electrifying. Rousing.

“Be still,” he commands.

I school my body into obedience. Because I want him. I want him badly. All other thought has fled my mind. All I see is him.

I want his touch. I want it strong and firm and rough. I want his growl as well as his bite. I’ve always tried to suppress my darker side, the side that craves to control and be controlled, but Jericho has only made those feelings stronger. And this time, I’m willing to submit.

He comes and stands before me. I raise my gaze slowly, starting at his shoes and letting it trail over him until I meet his eye. Reaching out, he lifts my chin with a single finger, not allowing me to look away.

I swallow and the movement feels strange, forced.

“Still,” Jericho repeats.

I nod as he removes his finger. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt. He moves leisurely. Slowly. Painfully slowly as though he wants to torment me.

His buttons fall open one by one until there’s a strip of his flesh visible between the lines of material. Then he shrugs his shirt over his shoulders, catching it with his fingers before it falls to the floor. He doesn’t let it fall; instead, he walks over to the side of the room, folding it over the chair. His movements are languid and exaggerated, as though he knows the torture going on inside me. As if he knows exactly how the sight of seeing him shirtless and bare makes me feel. As if he too can feel the warmth that floods between my legs. As if he knows how strong the desire is to squirm against myself, to give myself some freedom from the desire that tugs deep inside.

After removing his shoes, he pops the buttons of his jeans one by one. He doesn’t look at me as he does it, but he knows how intently I’m watching him. I couldn’t tear my eyes away even if I wanted to. I’m drawn to him. Pulled by some magnetic thread that won’t let go.

The swans on his back continue their fight as he twists and turns, tugging his jeans off and placing them over the back of the chair.

The darkness of his eyes has deepened when he walks back to me. No longer are they filled with threatening thunder clouds. They’re ink. Cataclysmic and ruinous.

He comes to stand behind me. My skin prickles and I shiver, though I’m not sure if it’s from the coldness of the air or the anticipation of his touch. I watch him in the reflection of the mirror. His body is bathed in the same moonlight as mine, cut into light and shadows, half-hidden, half-exposed. His fingers brush over my shoulders as he adjusts my hair, moving it to fall down my back like a veil. My head is perfectly placed to disguise his hardness in the mirror, but the rest of him is fully exposed.

The cut of his shoulders. The swells of his chest. The ridges of his stomach and the way the deep lines of his muscles dive to his groin. Feathers from the fight of the swans dance over his arms, taking flight in the moonlight.

He’s so exquisite he takes my breath away.

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