Chapter 6 Hope
HOPE
Song: Unholy by Sam Smith and Kim Petras
I’m going to spank your ass until my hand is branded on your skin
Justice
Where are you?
I’d successfully managed to avoid the man for all of three hours since I’d woken up emotionally wrung out and with memories of an orgasm that would keep me blushing for years.
I hesitated, unsure how to respond to a man who had not only seen me naked and climaxing but had come all over my chest.
I understood that I shouldn’t be ashamed of our actions—and that he’d been more than respectful by not taking advantage of the situation.
But I’d never been in this situation before, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.
“Pass me that green yarn?” Ms. Abernathy asked, nodding at the ball on the table in front of me.
I slid it across to her and sighed as another text popped up on my screen.
Justice
If you don’t tell me right now, I’m going to spank your ass until my hand is branded on your skin. Don’t tempt me, Hope.
I ducked my head to avoid the blush that had now become semi-permanent around Justice.
Hope
I’m at Gran’s knitting club.
Justice
Which is where, exactly?
Hope
The church hall.
Justice
Jesus Christ.
Hope
He’s not here right now, but I’m sure He’d make a home visit for a sinner like you.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket when he didn’t respond and picked up my needles once more.
With no work, I’d found myself at a loose end today and rather than stay home and wallow in the uncertainty and frustration of the situation, I told Gran I’d taken the week off and would come with her.
I had immediate regret as I became the center of all the gossip.
Turns out gossip rags had nothing on the grapevine—or the memories—of the matrons in this town.
They’d spent the last hour rehashing all the highlights from my youth—including but not limited to, the time I broke my arm trying to climb an apple tree, the time I lost a baby tooth and didn’t tell anyone, which led to me crying in the grocery store about the tooth fairy hating me, and the time my brothers decided it would be perfectly acceptable to turn up to my dance recital with moose horns.
That’d been just before Dad had gotten sick. The dance lessons had stopped soon after.
A tingle started in the back of my neck, and I knew without even turning that Justice had entered the hall.
“Well, well, well,” Gran drawled, her fingers pausing. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Ladies,” he greeted, his warm voice sending pleasant shivers up my spine. “How are you today?”
I kept my head down as he took the seat beside mine, flirting with the older women. They were putty in his charming hand within minutes.
But then, who wouldn’t be? Today he’d dressed down, wearing beaten jeans so old they seemed to have molded to his body. His shirt was similarly inappropriate, the white fabric clinging to his skin as if it had been made for him.
And the bastard hadn’t shaved, his scruff adding an even rougher edge to his already wild persona.
I will not blush, I will not blush, I will not—
“And how are you today, Ms. Higgins?” he asked, leaning into me.
I finally looked up from my massacre of a scarf. “Just fine. How are you?” I asked primly.
His gaze swept across my face, searching for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as a small grin tipped up one side of his mouth.
“Sleep well?”
I held his gaze. “Very. And you?”
“Mm.” He brushed a stray hair away from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. “Must have been all the exercise I performed before bed.”
The bastard knew exactly what to say to ignite my desire. I squirmed in my seat, pressing my thighs together as he turned away from me to answer a question.
Pull it together, Hope! Your GRANDMOTHER is present.
I glanced around the hall and noted his security detail standing discreetly in the corners.
Had they been outside last night? God, how embarrassing.
“Hope?” Gran called from across the table.
“Yes?”
“Could you go make us up another pitcher of lemonade?”
I surged to my feet, appreciating the excuse to escape Justice’s presence and collect myself.
“Of course.” I tossed my ruin of a scarf on the table, knowing the women would silently be judging the knotted mess.
Don’t worry, I also judged myself. Despite my many skills, knitting had never been one I could master.
I began to hurry from the room only to be stopped by Gran’s question to Justice.
“And young man, can you go help my granddaughter? She’ll need someone to help carry the food.”
“I can use a cart!” I protested.
“Nonsense. We have a fine young man here willing to assist.” She glared at Justice. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded with a straight face. “We’ll be right back.”
Gran waved at us dismissively. “Take your time. The quiche will need a few minutes in the oven to warm it up.”
I spluttered as Justice placed a hand on the small of my back and gently guided me from the room.
Betrayed by my own flesh and blood. I couldn’t believe it.
The kitchen sat on the far side of the building. The building had once been a barn before the family had gifted it to the church many a century ago.
I wasn’t religious, and I didn’t think my gran felt a particular commitment to the church so much as used it as an opportunity to commune with her fellow townsfolk.
But I respected the institution enough to recognize that Justice turning me on inside these hallowed walls would probably not be looked on fondly by the clergy.
Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to hold the same views.
“You avoiding me?” he asked when I pulled away from him as we entered the kitchen.
“No, not at all,” I lied sweetly. “I’m just busy with Gran today.”
I twisted the knob on the oven then moved to the fridge to pull out Gran’s quiche.
Justice watched me for a beat, his dark gaze unreadable. Then he shrugged, rolling his shoulders as if to discard whatever had settled on them.
“What can I do to help?”
I slid the quiche in the oven and twisted the ancient timer then pointed at the empty jugs in the middle of the kitchen counter. “You can start mixing the lemonade while I cut the sandwiches, if you’d like.”
“Done.”
We moved around the kitchen in a strangely silent dance, somehow in tune with one another despite the lack of verbal communication.
Justice finally broke the silence.
“You know you have nothing to be ashamed of, right?”
“I know.” I kept my head bent, hiding my expression behind the curtain of my hair. “That doesn’t mean I’m ready to look at you, though.”
He pulled a chopping board free and set it down beside mine, twirling a knife in one hand as he reached for a sandwich with the other.
“Why not?” he asked, slicing into the soft bread.
“Because if I do, I’m pretty sure I’m going to do something stupid.”
His knife stilled. “What kind of stupid?”
“Ask you to lay me out on the counter of the church kitchen and kiss me, stupid.”
He remained quiet and still for a breath before leaning in to ask the question on his mind. “And that’s a bad thing how?”
I gestured at our surrounds. The room hadn’t been updated since the early 1970s, and it showed. Wood laminate cupboards were faded and peeling, while the chipped lime green countertops clashed wildly with the formerly pink and now some sort of cream-slash-off-grey walls.
‘Not exactly the most romantic place in the world.”
“Hey.” Justice caught my chin, turning me until I faced him. “Ignore that. Being with you is what makes this romantic.” He stepped into my space, shifting us until my butt hit the island counter, halting my retreat.
“Now, let me have a taste.”
My eyelids fluttered, the pulse in my neck beating a million miles an hour as he leaned in, slowly, ever so slowly until his breath brushed my lips.
This isn’t real.
Finally his lips took mine in a hungry, leisurely kiss.
For him this relationship had an expiry date.
Whatever had occurred between us last night might have taken us over the edge, but in the light of the day I had regrets.
There wasn’t any way to put that experience back into the unknown box.
Now that I knew how he tasted, how he sounded, how he looked, each moment with him felt easier and harder.
“Justice….” My protest died as he deepened our kiss.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now stay here while I indulge.”
His kiss tasted of sunshine and overturned regrets. Each drag of his lips built upon the last until I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.
My arms wrapped around his neck, and I tilted my head to grant him better access.
I wanted more.
More of this.
More of him.
More, more, more.
A small voice queried if he really wanted me or if I was simply convenient.
But I knew, deep down, that there was no turning back from this path we’d found ourselves on.
“Let’s see,” Justice murmured against my lips. “Sober.” He kissed his way down my neck, nibbling at my collarbone as his hands fisted my skirt. “But are you enthusiastically consenting?”
In the cold light of day, it would be so easy to deny him. To request that he step back and stop.
But I didn’t want him to.
Crap. I think I’m going to hell.
His hand slipped under my skirt and began to stroke across the damp fabric of my underwear.
“So wet, baby.” He nipped my earlobe. “You been needing relief all day or just since I got here?”
“All day,” I admitted. “I played with myself this morning.”
“Fuck you’re a naughty girl.” His finger ran up and down my slit, the fabric adding a delicious friction I’d never anticipated.
“More,” I panted, eyes firmly closed. “Please, Justice. More.”
He chuckled, low and deep. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll take what I give you and enjoy it.”
He withdrew his hand, and I made a sound of protest which gave way to a startled yelp as he hauled me into his arms and sat me on the edge of the countertop.
With a wicked grin, he dropped to his knees and disappeared under my skirt.
“Justice!”