Open Wounds: Abel and Hope: Love Against the Odds

by Inger Iversen

  Her arousal slickened her inner thighs, and the sound of his digits moving in and out of her echoed around the room, the sound competing with her moans as they grew louder. Hope violently bucked her hips as his fingers caressed and stroked her g-spot. Releasing her nipple, Abel stretched forward and touched the pad of his thumb to her plush lips. As if knowing exactly what he wanted, Hope opened for him and took his thumb into her mouth. Groaning at the warm, wet sensation, he pushed his cock against her in rhythm with her sucking.

  Knowing she was about to climax, Abel couldn’t take it any longer. He pulled his soaking wet fingers out and grabbed ahold of his length, thrusting himself inside of her tight channel, until his balls met her skin.

  Hope screamed out in pleasure; bucking once . . . twice, then her orgasm crashed over her. She was still so tight, Abel was glad he’d stretched her first. Keeping his hips still, he enjoyed the contractions of her orgasm. Leaning forward, he took her mouth with his in a fevering kiss. He tasted her mouth, then nibbled on her lower lip before he pulled his hips back and thrust hard and deep. Hope gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist as she arched into his thrusts.

  Abel’s balls drew up tight and he fought against his orgasm with each plunge. Reaching back, he grabbed her leg and lifted it over his shoulder, creating an angle where he could take her even deeper. A yelp echoed throughout the room, and Abel reached between her legs to rub her pulsing clit. Hope hissed, but he knew he could pull one more orgasm from her body.

  “I-I can’t,” she moaned as her legs began to shake. “Too intense . . .”

  His thrusts grew deeper and faster, as he patted her clit. He knew the sharp sensations she felt now would only build into an extreme orgasm that would ride the line between pleasure and pain.

  “Abel, I can’t.” She shook her head, nails scoring his back in desire. The sharp sting caused his balls to spasm, his impending release now measured in seconds. Abel fucked her hard, as she pleaded for more. Leaning down, he took a breast into his mouth, and at the same time, pinched her clit. Hope sucked in a shuddering breath and came, her pleasure pushing past his cock to coat her inner thighs and his lower belly.

  Abel’s cock roared in triumph as his body released deep inside of her, rendering him to a pile of spasms and grunts. Once the jerking movements subsided, his slick, trembling body collapsed on top of her, his face taking up residence between her breasts.

  Hope’s fingers moved through his hair; a soothing sensation that nearly lulled him to sleep.

  Right as his eyes were about to close, he remembered something important. Lifting his head, he looked to her with wide eyes, then dropped his forehead against her chest. He couldn’t believe he could be such a fuck-nut. “I didn’t wear a condom,” he muttered, stomach dropping into a pit of despair. When she didn’t react, he looked up at her, only to find her eyes were still closed.

  “I’m on birth control from the clinic.” Her eyes peeked open and she patted his arm. “I’ve been tested, and I’m clean. You?”

  He let out a sigh of relief and sat up. “Been tested, too. Clean.”

  Hope smiled lazily, her flushed cheeks a beautiful image. She lay before him, with her legs spread wide, and her devoured pussy dripping with his come. Abel took several breaths as his cock stirred at the sight. Instead of taking her again, he stood on shaky legs and held a hand out for her.

  He tried to keep the regret from entering his mind; tried to keep it from his face. But in the end, he wasn’t sure if he could, so he pulled her up from the couch and led her to the bathroom.

  “You first,” he whispered once they were in front of the door. He stepped back, covering his groin area with his hands.

  Hope turned to face him with a fading smile. “What’s wrong? I wouldn’t mind taking a shower with you.” She reached for him.

  Taking a step back, Abel shook his head. “Not a good idea,” he said in a harsher tone than he meant.

  A flicker of hurt and disappointment fluttered across her face before she schooled her features. “Why not?” she asked with thinly veiled anger. “And why are you hiding your cock from me? It was just so deep inside of me, I can still taste it.”

  His dick twitched at the naughty words.

  Abel cleared his throat. “Look . . .” He needed to get off this subject before he took her up against the wall, in the shower, or bent over the back of the couch. “We need to focus on the matter at hand, and—”

  “The matter at hand is your come that’s currently leaking down my leg, and how I can have that happen again.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and Abel glanced away from the breasts he’d just tasted, mouth watering for another taste.

  This was all a huge mistake, and it was surely going to fuck him over in the end.

  “Go and shower,” he said, roughening his tone. “We need to talk … and not about what just happened, but about what will happen when Mark shows up.”

  Her face paled and he knew his words had had their intended effect. His heart stuttered in his chest at the look of fear on her face. Abel took a step forward to reach for her, but Hope disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  ***

  In past relationships, Abel reveled in the silent treatment. After the stress of an argument, he needed the quiet. But now, as he and Hope pushed a grocery cart around the store, all Abel could do was watch her backside as she walked as far ahead of him as he allowed. His sudden mood change hadn’t been baseless, yet telling her his reasons why wouldn’t assuage her. That he still saw her as a victim was surely going to piss her off. He was trying to change that, but it wasn’t easy coming.

  Hope picked up a pack of low-fat yogurt.

  Abel scoffed. “We aren’t buying that shit.”

  Instead of placing it in the cart, she hefted it under her arm and continued shopping.

  By the time they headed home, Hope had several low-fat, diet items in a bag by her feet, and Abel had the backseat full of meals sure to put some weight on her.

  Pulling up to their building, Abel lifted all the bags out of the truck and headed into the loft with Hope. He did a quick perimeter check, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Once they were inside, Hope put away her things and made her way to the sofa. Clicking on the TV, she ignored him as she watched a man throw a chair at another man on Jerry Springer.

  “What would you like for dinner?” he asked.

  Abel didn’t have time for this ridiculous game. And he couldn’t help but regret what’d happened between them earlier that morning. Pulling the parmesan cheese from the bag, he closed his eyes and banished all thoughts of Hope undulating beneath him.

  “What are you doing?” She appeared at his side, inquisitive eyes meeting his. Just like every other woman he’d ever known, her hunger trumped her anger.

  He smiled inwardly, then turned to the food. He needed to push away the need growing in his belly. How could he face her, while his body betrayed him? “Making dinner.”

  “Lunch,” Hope corrected.

  Abel glanced at his watch, confirming the time. “I’ll make sandwiches.”

  Once they were settled in at the table, Abel brought up the subject of Mark. “So, we need to formulate a plan. I have this place set up to keep you protected, and the guys from my old job have installed surveillance cameras at the clinic. And while I am not Superman, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, but that also depends on you.”

  Hope took a bite of her sandwich, then picked at her yogurt, but he could tell she was listening intently.

  “There aren’t any training standards for this job, but I’ve been trained by an ex-Navy Seal, a Marine Combat Trainer, and I graduated from Academi in North Carolina.” His sandwich sat untouched on his plate. This was the spiel he gave all his potential clients—the one where he marketed himself as the best choice, while teaching the customer to have realistic expectations of his abilities. “I have a Personal Protection Specialist, or a PPS license. It allows me certain pr
ivileges the average civilian isn’t allowed.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked, not unkindly.

  “Because I want you to know what I have to offer, and I need to know what it is you expect from me.” Abel pushed his plate away. “You and I both know you don’t have the funds for me to guard you forever, so I want to know what the long-term plan is.” Abel knew he wouldn’t be able to leave Hope unprotected—ever—but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  She glanced out of the window. “Abel, I don’t know. I just . . .” She covered her face and took a deep breath. When she looked back at him, her eyes had filled with an emotion he couldn’t name. In a fierce tone, she said, “I just want my life back. Can you help me with that? And if so, how much is it going to cost me?”

  What was her life worth? What was Hope’s freedom worth? Because, at the moment, Abel was willing to give his last damned dime to protect both. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. Upon opening them, he watched as she placed her food onto her plate, pushed back from the table, and stood. Abel stood as well, his eyes glued firmly to her ashen face. His silence had scared her, and he needed to fix it.

  First, he’d allow the emotions playing over her face to play out because he was not sure where he stood, and he didn’t trust himself not to take her in his arms and attempt to kiss it better. The idea that his lips would fix anything was unlikely at best.

  She sat on the couch, her slim frame tangled in the soft covers, her pink-painted toes sticking out from beneath the afghan. Abel sensed in her the strength Mark had endeavored to destroy. Beneath the surface of that pliant soft skin, tanned freckles, and doe eyes, resided a woman who would fight to regain her independence. With him at her side he had no doubt it was possible.

  Abel made his way to the couch and knelt in front of her, the position reminding him of when they’d made love. “Do you think me the type of man to place a price on a life?”

  “But don’t you?” she asked, her voice a low purr.

  Yes, he did. His job placed a price on security. “A man’s gotta eat, right?” He chuckled when she smiled and placed a hand over his stomach.

  “I guess so.” Her smile waned and melancholy stole over her once again.

  Rising from his kneeling position, Abel took the space beside her. “I’ll stay with you as long as it takes, I promise.” Effortlessly, the words fell from his lips.

  A ghost of a smile lit her lips, but was gone the second it arrived. “And if it takes a week?” she tugged on the edge of his shirt pulling him closer.

  “I’ll stay.” He scooted closer with each tug she gave.

  Hope pushed the cover from her legs. “And if it takes a month?” Soft eyes met his.

  He answered honestly, “I’ll stay.” Gently, he lifted her legs and draped them across his own. He then took a foot in his hands and began to massage.

  “A year?” she asked, her head falling back and her body going limp onto the couch.

  Abel wondered what it would be like to have her here with him for a year. Cooking dinners for her after her long shifts, learning about her life before he’d met her, and waking up to her every morning. He shook away the idea of a life with Hope. Once he helped her and she got her divorce, she’d most likely move back to her fancy apartment in New York.

  Hope stiffened, his silence pulling her gaze to his. “A month it is.” She pulled her feet from his hands and pushed them under her butt.

  Sitting up, Abel faced her. “Look, I am going to stay as long as it takes, but don’t be angry that I don’t want this to take a year.” Her eyes softened. “The goal is to get your life back and in less time than a damned year.” He hadn’t formulated a plan yet, and having this mesmerizing woman so close to him wasn’t helping the brain in his head function properly.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You keep saying that you are going to help me get my life back, but aren’t you just a bodyguard?”

  “Just a bodyguard?” Abel’s eyes widened. “What?” He threw a hand over his heart and feigned outrage. Hope smiled, so bright the sheer magnitude of it lit her entire face. “How dare you?”

  “That’s not what I mean!” she shrieked, her laughter bubbling up when he vaulted across the couch, tickling her firm belly.

  “Then tell me, what did you mean?”

  “In the end, I want to know that I did all I could to survive, but I don’t want Mark to be a stain on my future. I want to move on. And as you know, I don’t want to be treated as a domestic abuse victim, or a victim at all.”

  Abel understood more now than ever her need to shed the miasma that surrounded her in the form of a title she never wanted. And just like that, he realized the mistake he’d made with his past clients. Had they all been this strong, this resilient? When he regarded Hope the day he walked in her home, he had in fact only seen her as a victim. Someone to be protected. However, now he was positive he was a fucking idiot. It would take time for him to change how he viewed her, and he hated the stigma attached to the word victim, but he’d try his very best.

  While she hadn’t had the means to protect herself from Mark, that didn’t mean she was weak. She survived in a tiny, ramshackle apartment by hocking jewelry and working twelve-hour shifts. And at one point, she’d had no one to truly confide in. She’d been alone.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

  Abel took her in. “You. Your strength. Your will to survive, and how I could have been a part of those willing to steal it from you because I was too stupid to look beyond your past and see you.”

  Her eyes widened at his words, and while he hadn’t meant to be so blunt, Abel thanked his momentary inability to erect a filter between his brain and his mouth. Hope pressed her fingers to her lips, and gave them a soft kiss before reaching out and placing her delicate fingers against his lips.

  Her voice floated over to him, soft and reverent. “Thank you for that, Abel. You’ll never truly know what that meant to me.”

  Abel’s lips tingled from her soft touch, and his chest expanded at the fact his words had offered her some reprieve.

  9

  Hope

  Hope walked by Abel, who was sitting at his laptop. “What’s wrong?”

  His brow furrowed as he leaned closer to the screen. “Nothing.” Sighing, he pushed away from the desk, clearly bothered by something. “Actually, come here.”

  “What the hell is going on?” she asked again, making her way back to the desk.

  Abel tapped on the keyboard. “This.” He turned it to face her. Hope eyed the screen, making out what was in front of her. It was her old apartment, a place where she once felt semi-safe. In front of its door stood a man in a mask. Hope gasped as the man knelt and placed a blue and white box at her doorstep.

  “I left the cameras up at your old place for this reason.” He pointed to the screen. “Is that your husband?” She placed a palm over her stomach, as the nausea grew. Leaning in, she took a better look. Abel had been right when he’d explained about the video quality of his cameras. Hope could see very clearly a tattoo on the man’s right forearm.

  She shook her head. “No. Unless Mark got a tattoo of a cobra on his arm in the last few months, that isn’t him.”

  The man placed the box on the step, then casually made his way down the steps as if he hadn’t just left a possible death threat at her door. Maybe he didn’t know what the gifts meant to her or what Mark intended them to mean. She wondered what lies Mark could have told the man to convince him to do his bidding. Mark, extremely charismatic and persuasive, had easily convinced her that she was worthless, but she knew better now.

  Abel stood and picked up his handheld device. “I need to go and get it.”

  Hope made a beeline to the front door for her shoes.

  “Hell no.”

  Momentarily frozen in place at his words, Hope looked up at Abel from her bended position. “Excuse me?” She lifted to see his h
ands crossed over his chest and a frown marring his face. She nearly laughed at the sight. Instead, she mirrored his pose.

  His voice deepened, taking on an unyielding tone. “You aren’t fucking going.”

  “And you aren’t leaving my ass here.” A desperate feeling overcame her when his face hardened. “It can’t be safe to leave me here alone. I mean, it’s your job to protect me. How can you do that if you aren’t here?”

  As if her words had summoned a migraine, Abel closed his eyes and massaged his temples. His voice lowered, taking on a resigned tone. “Just stop, Hope. He doesn’t know where you are, or he would have left the note at this doorstep.” He walked around the room as he prepared to leave her alone in the place without him. It wasn’t that she was scared, not even when Abel placed his gun in the holster at his side and then slid one to her. “This is for you, though I’m 99.9% sure you won’t need it.”

  Hope lifted her fingers to her brow and massaged lightly. Now she was getting a headache. “Look, I am not trying to be that heroine that is too stupid to live.” He cocked a brow. “I’m not! I just—”

  “Don’t want me to see you as a victim,” he finished.

  “Something like that,” she muttered. Taking the gun in her hand, she expertly checked the chamber and clip. She grinned when Abel whistled low. “But we should honestly stay together, and you know it.” Unable to meet his eyes, Hope added, “I want to go because I want to be with you.”

  He let loose a long-suffering sigh. “How am I to protect you if you fight me at every turn?”

  “Take me with you,” she asked again, ignoring the question.

  Abel held silent for a long moment, his eyes closing as he considered her request. “You’ll stay in the truck, in the driver’s seat. And if anything happens, you’ll drive off and straight to the sheriff’s station.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand.

  “Okay.” She couldn’t hide the pleasure in her voice at his change of mind.