Chapter Nineteen #2
God help me.
That was all I needed.
I lowered my head and kissed her, and the world fell away.
It started tentatively. A question, a request. My lips brushed against hers, softly, testing, waiting for her response.
She answered by pressing closer, her mouth opening slightly, and I groaned low in my throat as I deepened the kiss.
Her taste flooded my senses—sweet and warm and intoxicating—as I slid my tongue against hers, exploring, claiming, and she met me stroke for stroke, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of my neck.
The kiss turned urgent and desperate. I could feel the need building between us, could feel the way her body molded against mine, soft curves pressing against hard muscle.
My hands slid down from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against me, and she gasped into my mouth when she felt the hard length of me pressing against her stomach.
The sound sent a bolt of heat straight to my groin, making my cock throb almost painfully.
I backed her toward the bed, my hands sliding under her shirt, desperate to feel her skin.
She was so warm, so soft, and I couldn’t get enough.
But beneath the desire, beneath the need, there was something else.
Fear. Fear that this was the last time. Fear that once Shadow found out, once the club learned what I had done, I would lose her. Fear that I was about to destroy the one good thing I had found in the wreckage of my life.
I’m going to ruin her, I thought desperately. I’m going to drag her down into the darkness with me, and she’ll never find her way back. But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let her go. Because she was the only light I had left.
I broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt over her head, tossing it aside without care. Her bra followed. A simple white cotton thing that I fumbled with before finally getting it unhooked, and then she was bare from the waist up, her breasts full and perfect, her nipples already hard.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I breathed, my hands coming up to cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples.
She arched into my touch, her head falling back as a soft moan escaped her lips.
The sound went straight to my cock, making it pulse with need.
I wanted to hear that sound again. Wanted to make her moan and gasp and scream my name.
And I realized something that made my chest tighten almost painfully.
She is giving herself to me. Not because she was confused. Not because she thought I was someone else. But because she chose this. Chose me. Knowing exactly who I was and what I had done.
The weight of that trust, that choice, nearly brought me to my knees.
I lowered my head and took one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder when she gasped and threaded her fingers through my hair.
I lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between sucking and licking, and biting just hard enough to make her cry out.
Her hands fumbled with the button of my jeans, and I released her breast long enough to help her, shoving my jeans and boxers down my hips and kicking them off.
My cock sprang free, hard and aching, and I saw her eyes widen slightly as she took in the sight of me. I was thick, heavy, the head already glistening with pre-cum, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed. “It’s okay,” I said softly, reaching out to cup her face. “We’ll go slow.”
She nodded, but I could see the apprehension in her eyes. She had only been with me once before, at the pond, and I had been too drunk, too grief-stricken to be gentle. This time would be different. This time, I would take care of her.
I made quick work of her jeans and panties, sliding them down her legs and helping her step out of them. And then she was completely bare before me, her skin flushed, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. I guided her back onto the bed, following her down, settling between her thighs.
She spread her legs for me willingly, her hands reaching up to pull me closer, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest. The trust in that gesture, the vulnerability—it nearly undid me.
I braced myself on one forearm, my other hand sliding down between us to find her wet and ready. I groaned at the feel of her, slick and hot against my fingers. I stroked her gently, watching her face, watching the way her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted.
“Look at me,” I commanded softly.
Her eyes opened, locking onto mine, and I slid one finger inside her. She gasped, her hips lifting off the bed, and I added a second finger, stretching her carefully. She was so tight, so warm, and I could feel her inner walls clenching around my fingers.
She wants this, I reminded myself. She wants me. But the guilt was still there, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. Julie’s face flashed through my mind. Her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me with such complete trust.
I’m sorry, I thought desperately. I’m so sorry.
But I couldn’t stop.
“Chapman,” Hope whispered, her hips lifting toward my hand, seeking more.
“I know, baby. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you, I repeated silently. I won’t let you fall. I won’t let anything hurt you.
Even if the thing that hurt her most was me.
I withdrew my fingers and positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick heat. I could feel her trembling beneath me, could see the mixture of desire and nervousness in her eyes. “Breathe,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Just breathe, baby.”
And then I pushed inside.
Slowly. So slowly. Watching her face, watching for any sign of pain or discomfort.
She gasped, her back arching off the bed, her hands gripping my shoulders.
I moved inch by inch, feeling her body stretching to accommodate me, feeling the tight heat of her enveloping me.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers. “You feel so good.”
Too good, I thought. This feels too right.
And that terrified me. Because everything I loved, I lost. Everything I touched, I destroyed.
She whimpered, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me deeper. The movement drove me in to the hilt, and we both gasped at the sensation. I held still, giving her time to adjust, feeling her inner walls flutter around me.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice strained.
She nodded, her eyes locking on mine. “Don’t stop.”
Don’t stop. The same words she said at the pond. The same desperate plea. And I realized she was just as afraid as I was. Afraid of losing this. Afraid of what came next. Afraid that this moment—this connection—would be ripped away before we were ready.
I started to move. Slow, deliberate strokes that made her gasp and moan beneath me. I watched her face, watched the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her lips parted, the way her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Every expression, every sound she made, I committed to memory.
“Look at me,” I commanded, my voice rough.
Her eyes opened, locking onto mine, and the connection between us intensified. I could see everything in her gaze. Trust, desire, and love.
Love. God help me, she loved me, and I loved her.
The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing my breath and making my chest ache.
I loved her. Not the way I loved Julie. That had been young and innocent and built over years of shared history.
This was different. Desperate and fierce and born from darkness and grief and the desperate need to feel something other than pain.
But it was real, and it was going to destroy us both.
I increased my pace, driving into her harder, deeper, as she met me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my back. The pain from my ribs was nothing compared to the pleasure of being inside her, of feeling her body respond to mine.
“Chapman,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Oh God, Chapman.”
“That’s it, baby. Say my name.”
Say my name, I begged silently. Remind me that I’m real. Remind me that I’m here. Remind me that I’m not just a ghost haunting the wreckage of my own life.
“Chapman,” she moaned again, louder this time, and I felt her body start to tighten around me as I reached between us, my thumb finding her clit and circling it in time with my thrusts. She cried out, her body arching, her inner walls clenching around me like a vise.
“Come for me, Hope,” I growled. “Let me feel you.”
Let me know you’re real, I thought desperately. Let me know this isn’t just another dream I’ll wake up from alone.
She shattered, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that made her scream my name. I felt her pulsing around me, felt the way her body trembled and shook, felt the hot rush of her release coating my cock, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed.
She’s mine, I thought fiercely. In this moment, she is completely mine. But I wasn’t done with her yet.
I pulled out, ignoring her whimper of protest, and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. She looked back at me over her shoulder, her eyes wide and dazed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a tangled mess around her face.
“Trust me,” I said, my hands gripping her hips.
“I do.”
She does, I realized with a mixture of awe and terror. She trusts me completely. And I was going to betray that trust. Not today. Not intentionally. But eventually, the darkness in me would consume everything good between us. It always did.
I positioned myself behind her and pushed back inside in one smooth thrust. She cried out, her arms giving out, her chest pressing against the mattress as I filled her completely.
This angle was deeper, more intense, and I groaned at the feel of her.
I could see where we were joined, could see my cock disappearing inside her, and the sight made me impossibly harder.
I set a punishing pace, my hips slamming against her ass, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.
Each thrust drove her forward, and she braced herself against the headboard, pushing back to meet me.
The sight of her like this—completely surrendered, completely mine—made something primal roar to life inside me.
“Chapman,” she gasped, her hands fisting in the sheets. “Oh God, yes.”
I reached around and found her clit again, rubbing it in tight circles as I drove into her. She was already close, her body still sensitive from her first orgasm, and it didn’t take long before she was coming again, her body convulsing around me.
The sensation of her clenching around me, the sound of her screaming my name, the sight of her completely undone—it was too much.
I followed her over the edge, my own orgasm ripping through me with a force that left me breathless.
I buried myself deep inside her, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, as I emptied myself into her with a guttural groan.
Mine, I thought desperately as pleasure crashed over me in waves. She is mine and I’m hers, and nothing else matters. But even as the thought formed, I knew it was a lie.
Everything else mattered.
Shadow. The club. The consequences. The inevitable moment when this all came crashing down around us.
We collapsed onto the bed together, our bodies tangled, our breathing ragged. I pulled her against my chest, ignoring the protest from my ribs, and buried my face in her hair. She smelled like jasmine and sex and something uniquely her, and I breathed it in, trying to commit it to memory.
“Mine,” I murmured against her skin. “You’re mine, Hope.”
Please let me keep her, I prayed to a God I wasn’t sure was listening. Please don’t take her from me too.
“Yours,” she whispered back, her hand coming up to rest over my heart.
And I felt it then. The steady beat beneath her palm. Proof that I was still alive. Still here. Still capable of feeling something other than grief and rage, and guilt. She made me feel human again, and in that moment, I knew there was no going back.
She was mine.
Mine to protect.
No matter what came next—Shadow’s wrath, the club’s rules, the consequences of our choices—I would face it all.
For her.
Because losing her would destroy me more completely than Julie’s death ever had, and I wasn’t strong enough to survive that kind of loss twice.