“Yes,” she moaned, her hips rolling in cadence with his mouth. Her body strained with pleasure, and her heart pumped a wild rhythm in her chest. He plunged his tongue deep into her core, pressing deeper and deeper. Hope lifted onto her elbows, and licked her lips at the sight of Abel’s head between her thighs. “I want to touch you.”
He lifted his head, lips glistening with her juices, eyes wild. She couldn’t reach him in this position, yet desperately wanted to.
As if sensing her need, Abel lifted a knee and ran a hand down his flat stomach, until he grabbed hold of his length. She watched as the swollen plum head peeked through his grasp with each pump he gave it. Her need increased ten-fold at the sight. Stealing her view, Abel dipped his head down again and Hope was no longer able to support her weight on her elbows. She yelped when blunt teeth bit gently into the tender flesh of her clit, her hips bucking as the orgasm she chased drew near.
Reaching down, Hope grasped his head. “Don’t stop.” But he denied her the pleasure of his tongue, and stood between her legs. Leaning in, he closed the distance between their mouths. His tongue slipped between her lips, and the taste of her core burst on her tongue, mixed with his own sexy flavor. He gripped her hips, pushing against her thighs until she was spread so wide, Hope felt she’d snap in two.
Abel gripped his cock and guided it into her entrance. One sharp thrust, and he’d seated himself deep inside of her. Hope wrapped her legs around Abel’s back and met the fierce pace he set. Reaching between her legs, Abel rubbed and pinched Hope’s clit, until the sharp sensations brought forth her orgasm in a mind-blowing explosion. She held on tight, riding each wave until Abel stiffened in her arms, his long thrusts shallowing until his seed filled her. He groaned, placing his face in her neck, riding out his pleasure. A horn honked and Abel helped Hope up to stand on her wobbly legs.
Abel knelt before her. “Shit, not sure I can walk.” He gave her a crooked smile as he picked up her panties. Using them to clean her up, he added, “Can you carry me to the car?”
Hope groaned. “You can’t walk? That’s nothing. You nearly tore me in two!”
He laughed when he shot up and lifted her into his arms. “Fine, I guess I’ll carry you to the car then.”
Hope fought to get down. She was panty-less and in a dress. Abel didn’t allow her to leave the cradle of his arms, though, and proceeded to carry her all the way to the car.
17
Hope
Mark sat across the table from Hope, with a smaller, daintier, chocolate-skinned version of herself glued to his side. His licentious gaze roved over the woman’s body, no doubt imagining the pain his hands could inflict upon her. His new victim sat with her eyes lowered to her lap, and her hands on the table in plain sight of her master. Hope knew all his tricks, and her heart ached for the woman, knowing of the evil lurking deep beneath the calm, cool façade facing her now.
Hope and Abel had surmised that Mark didn’t know about him. Well, Abel had beaten this information from Edwin, and also revealed his sick plot to take her for his own once he realized Mark had moved on. So, here she sat, with a briefcase full of hidden evidence and divorce papers laid out on the table before him.
Mark smirked, baring his pearly white teeth. “You mean to tell me you want nothing, not even spousal support?” His boisterous laughter made his new play toy jump, and Hope wanted to reach out to her and soothe her, but she didn’t dare. The punishment he’d want to dole out to Hope for her audacious action would be passed to the woman once they arrived home. “And you plan to go back to that hillbilly infested Blackwater?” He sneered at the word, as if Blackwater were a place in hell and not where Hope had been liberated from his grasp.
Sitting up in her chair, she boldly eyed him. Hope could feel the rage boiling inside of Mark; his icy dark eyes were narrowed, and his lips set in a grim line that slashed across his face. While he no longer wanted her, Hope’s money was long gone, and he now had a new play toy at his side, she still sensed his desire to break her. And the fact that she sat here, head held high and taking control, incensed him.
Was it wrong that his anger brought her joy? Was it wrong that his inability to touch her at this very moment made her feel empowered? Well, he could touch her, and he could very well hurt her, but he wouldn’t dare. Not right now; not in public and not after what she had to say.
“That is exactly what I am saying. I want no memory of you. I want the idea of your very existence to cease in my mind. And I want you to sign these fucking papers.” At her harsh words, the woman seated so timidly beside him glanced up with confusion. Having felt his wrath, she no doubt had felt this way many times. Or perhaps, she hadn’t even known Mark was married to Hope until today.
Mark’s hands fisted on the table. “Watch your tone when you speak to me.” His face reddened in anger, and his teeth were clenched so tight, he was barely able to get the words out. “We may be at your lawyer’s office, but we are in private right now, which gives me enough time to snap your neck in two.” He slammed his fist down on the table, and a shriek came from the woman at his side. Hope new she would pay for that. Maybe she could help her, but right now, she just needed to get the divorce rolling.
Mark lifted a haughty chin. “And what if I want spousal support?”
It was her turn to laugh, and she did until tears streamed down her cheeks, and her face was reddened with lack of oxygen. “You simple bastard. Do you think any judge in the world is going to give you that?”
“Then I want back all the jewelry I gifted you.”
“Ah! Gifted is the prime word there. Meaning you can’t ask for it back. And even so,” she leaned back and shrugged, “I sold all that shit to pay for this.” She pushed the papers forward again. She’d sold all of it to the MC, and paid a decent lawyer to draft up her divorce papers. She would even have a bit left over to help with the rent this month.
His eyes narrowed and he took her in again. “You’ve changed.” His tone was low and misleadingly calm.
She knew what was coming next—intimidation and threats. But she was well ahead of him this time. “Yes, I have. And wait, there’s more.” Leaning forward, she kept her eyes on him as she opened the briefcase. The first item she pulled out were the pictures of her in her apartment.
Mark picked up a pen and used it to turn the photos around. “What does this prove?” A cunning smile spread across his face. She examined his expression, seeing no change in his demeanor; no fear at all. She didn’t let that bother her. No, these alone didn’t incriminate Mark, but she wasn’t done yet.
Hope stuck her hand into the briefcase again and pulled some papers from it. “I am sure you’ll be interested to see these as well.” Pushing the papers over to him, she watched as a bevy of emotions flitted over his face and landed on pure rage.
“What the fuck does this prove?” He shoved the papers back to her so hard the texts and emails between Mark and Edwin flew past her and to the floor. “You can’t prove I sent any of that shit.”
And she couldn’t, if he’d used a burner phone. At first, when Abel spoke of his hacker friend V, Hope had been jealous and a bit fearful of the past he and V shared. But when he’d tasked her with the job of calling V and arranging the hacking of Mark’s phone, email, and banking records, Hope had gathered a whole new appreciation for the woman.
She leaned down and reached into her case of wonders once again, delighting in the tremors in Mark’s hands.
“What are you trying to accomplish?” he asked. Pushing back in his chair, he muttered curses under his breath. “What the fuck do you have in there, Hope?”
She took in a deep breath, her head clear and heart light. “My freedom,” she stated calmly.
Mark’s face turned an ashen white. Reaching down, he gripped the woman’s hand beside him. She winced, no doubt feeling the pain wrought from his anger.
Hope knew the only reason he hadn’t flown over the table at her was the fact that they were in her lawyer’s office
. The jovial man she’d hired had been asked to wait down the hall as she spoke to Mark. He hadn’t been happy, but had obliged when Abel had insisted. Abel hadn’t wanted to leave either, but had done so, stating that he would only be a few steps away.
She pulled the bank records from the case and placed them on the table. Next came Edwin’s cell phone, and the gifts he’d sent.
Mark, who was used to his father bailing him out of any and all trouble, smiled. “What’s this shit going to prove? What do you think will happen after today? You want a divorce? Fine, I want half of everything you own.” He spread his arms wide. “That is what it will take to make me sign.” He leaned in closer. “Do you understand me?”
“I do. And I told you—”
“Fuck you. I don’t know where this sudden bout of bravery has come from, but I’ll tell you this: you’ll give me what I want, you always do.” He sounded so sure of himself, yet beneath the surface, she could see the uncertainty.
Hope knew full well that any lawyer could take this circumstantial evidence and destroy it on the stand. So, it was a good thing Hope had more.
Sighing, she shook her head. “Is this really the way you want to do this?”
He didn’t answer; his heated gaze bore into hers.
Hope shrugged and stood. She didn’t gather the evidence on the table; she no longer had a need for it.
“Where the fuck are you going? This isn’t over, Hope.”
By the time she made it to the door and gave the two code knocks they’d planned, Mark had made it halfway across the room to her. He stopped and stared at the door when it opened and three men entered. Massive, tatted, and feral-looking men entered the room, teeth bared with guns on their hips. Spooky, Blu, and Gator to the rescue.
Mark reared back. “What the fuck is this?” Wild, fearful eyes met Hope’s, but only for a second.
“Spooky?” she called. He turned his gaze from his target to Hope. She gestured to the woman, who was staring at Hope as if she were an angel. “Can you make sure she gets home safe? And by safe, I mean far away from this asshole.”
He lifted his chin in greeting to the woman.
Hope exited the room, her heart racing a mile a minute. Abel stood two steps away from her, leaning against the wall, grinning.
“Can we go home now, baby?” he asked, just as she wrapped her arms around him.
She pressed a kiss to his chest and nodded.
Shouting came from the room and Hope turned to see Spooky leading the woman out of the room and in the opposite direction from where they stood. The woman gazed up at the huge man, with fearful yet inquisitive eyes. Hope wasn’t concerned for her safety, as long as she was with Spooky. He reached down and took her small chocolate brown hand in his large pale one and pressed the button to the elevator at the end of the hall.
“That’d be an odd couple,” Abel muttered, tugging at her hand. She allowed him to lead her down the hallway and to the stairs.
“Yeah, but I think she needs someone she can trust. Someone whose strength isn’t used against her, but to protect her.” She spoke from experience.
Abel had been her strength until she’d found her own, and she was falling in love with the man because of it. She held his hand tight as he took her down the steps and to the garage to the car they’d rented. He opened the door and waited for Hope to settle in before placing a kiss on her forehead and shutting the door. She took in a deep breath, excited she’d soon get her divorce papers signed using Gator and the men.
In the passenger seat, Abel turned to face her. “I’m thinking of getting out of the private security business.”
Her brow rose. “Why is that?”
Reaching over, he tugged on a lock of hair from her ponytail. “Because the only person I’m concerned with protecting from here on out is you.”
Hope bit her lip. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve already convinced you to move in with me. You think I could someday convince you to marry me?”
Hope gasped, her hand covering her mouth and tears springing to her eyes. Was she ready to marry him now? No. However, if she would ever take a walk down the aisle again, she could see Abel standing at the altar waiting for her clear as day.
She giggled her delight. “Yes, yes I think you could.” The breath whooshed from Abel, as if he’d actually asked for her hand and she’d accepted. “And I don’t think it’ll take you too long to convince me, either.”
Taking her hand in his, he kissed it, before starting the car. “And from the look on Gator’s face when he entered the room, you’ll have your divorce finalized sooner than you thought.”
Hope didn’t comment on his words. Mark no longer had a place in her heart or life. “So, if not security detail, what do you plan to do for work?”
Abel pressed a few buttons on the phone and the Bluetooth sprang to life; the ringing of the call he’d made came from the speakers. “Let’s see if my buddy has any openings at his shop. Maybe I can even come in part time.”
“Who is your buddy?” she asked, just as a man answered the phone.
“Trent Reed. What do you need?” the man’s gruff voice asked, not unkindly.
“Trent, old man.” Abel’s voice held a soft familiarity.
“You old bastard,” Trent said with laughter in his voice. “You get out of jail and you don’t call until now?” Abel and Trent both laughed.
“Well, I need a job, so I thought I’d check to see if you need a hand.”
“Get your dumb ass over to my shop and get to work already.” The line went dead after Trent let out a bout of laughter, causing Hope to smile.
Abel turned to her and winked. “Let’s go live the rest of our lives together.”
Hope blew her man a kiss and turned to the front window, excited for the life that lay before her.
The End
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December 28th 2017
Chapter 1 - Ivory
Weathered Souls
Eric & Ivory
Assess your thoughts, emotions, and behavior.
Ivory Lake
Journal Entry 1
Most people would find what I’m about to say selfish, but I couldn’t disagree more. Suicide was her only option. In her death, she put us all out of our misery. Let me tell you why.
Clara suffered from what’s called Bipolar Type Schizoaffective disorder. There were days when the voices were too strong, and begged her to take her own life—the ones that promised a salvation that living had denied her. Those were the days she begged us to tie her to the bed. There were also nights when she cleaned for hours, scrubbing until her fingers were raw and bloody. I even found myself on my hands and knees from time to time, scrubbing with her, as I tried to comprehend the jumble of words falling from her lips.
At night, I wake from nightmares—not from finding my sister in a massive lake of her own blood and bathwater, but from the idea that every morning when I wake, I have to write in this fucking journal parts of my past I want to lay to rest. My counselor believes keeping a journal will help me with a bevy of things. She loves making lists, and so she created a list of reasons why journaling will help me cope with the loss of my sister.
I laugh at her each time she pulls out a pen and curates a list of ways to keep Ivory Lake sane. Step one. Assess your thoughts, emotions, and behavior.
Chapter 1
Ivory stood in front of her 1980 cherry red Acura Integra as smoke curled from her overheated engine. It had been her sister’s car, and she couldn’t part with it, no matter how many times it broke down. Thank goodness, this time around she’d been able to guide the beast into the burger joint’s parking lot instead of the middle of the street.
“What a piece of fucking shit!” She followed her words up with a swift kick to the car’s backside, then pulled her cell from her pocket.
She could not afford to be late
to this job. Never mind that she was part owner of the company, and really didn’t answer to anyone in particular. But if anything was going to light a fire under her ass, it was her auntie’s mouth running about her inability to be on time to anything. It sure as hell wasn’t something she wanted to deal with this early in the morning.
And to top things off, it was ninety freaking degrees outside, and her clients—a sweet, adorable couple—had hired her company, Sweet Delights, to cater their wedding.
Looking to the sky for strength, Ivory dialed the number and placed the phone to her ear.
“Macy’s Pick and Pull,” Desta answered on the first ring.
“I need a pick up at the corner of Dassel and Elmont, by the Big Boy Burger.” Pressing a hand over her brow to shield the sun’s bright glare, she glanced up the street to the large building looming in the distance. It’s where the reception would be starting within the hour.
She really couldn’t complain about work, as she rarely ever had to work to begin with, but the idea of placing a fake smile on her face at this wedding seemed close to impossible. Hell, the next person who called out on a Saturday last minute would be fired! Okay, that was just the anger talking, but she was damned sure going to write someone up.
“Again, Ivory?” Desta’s voice caught her attention.
“Yep.” She left the keys in the sun visor and shut the door. “Do I have to be here when Chuck comes to pick it up? I need to head to work.” The wedding location was only about two blocks away; she’d have to go by foot.
“No, he’ll probably take that damned thing to the wreck yard.” Desta chuckled. “Where you know it belongs.”
Ivory pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek. Opening the back door, she pulled her duffle out and threw it over her shoulder. “I’ll kick his ass if he does.” And she meant every damned word of it. Everyone was so willing to throw every memory of Clara away, while Ivory seemed to be the only person willing to even mention her name.
Open Wounds: Abel and Hope: Love Against the Odds Page 12
