by Layne, Ivy
“Do you want me to go take a look?” I would if it would help her relax. I was ninety percent sure no one was out there skulking in the courtyard, but if Hope thought she’d seen something, I wouldn’t blow her off.
“No.” She turned, pressing her forehead into my neck, fatigue coming off her in waves. It had been a hell of a long day. She was exhausted, that was all.
I tried not to think about my father’s death. Whoever killed him hadn’t bothered skulking around in the night. His murderer had walked right in and shot him in broad daylight.
Was Hope jumpy because she was tired and stressed out, or was she worried about Prentice’s killer out there somewhere? This time he’d be aiming for one of us.
Now I was being jumpy. The house was locked up tight. Prentice was dead. If there was someone out there who meant us harm, I could keep Hope safer here, my weapon only feet away, than if I left her alone while I wandered around in the dark outside.
“Time for a bath.” Stopping to get my weapon from the bedside table and place it on the small bench by the tub, I led Hope into the bathroom.
Hope followed me in silence, standing behind the rapidly filling tub, her eyes wide and impenetrable. She let me pull the sweater over her head, unbutton her jeans, and slide them over her hips to pool around her ankles. She was still pushing them off her feet, reaching out to grab the side of the tub for balance when the last of my clothes hit the floor. I stepped into the tub and helped her inside with me, settling in with my back against the end of the tub and Hope in my arms.
Exactly where I wanted her.
When she saw the tub she’d grabbed a hairband off the counter, gathering her long strands into a messy knot on the top of her head. It left her neck completely exposed, and I took full advantage, nuzzling her damp skin, smelling the cinnamon and apples scent I’d discovered came from her favorite lotion, now neatly stowed on the bathroom counter.
I liked seeing her things there. I liked having her with me in the tub. I wasn’t much of a bath guy, but I could get used to this.
She was tense in my arms. Braced, I assumed, for me to make a move. I’d bungled this whole thing with Hope more than once, but I’d figured out Hope was fine once we got going. It was the getting started part that made her nervous. That was okay. Despite my showing earlier, I could be patient. I could.
I closed my hands over her shoulders and squeezed, her muscles like steel bands under my fingers. Pressing with my thumbs, I rubbed and she let out a moan that had my cock stiffening.
I said I could be patient, didn’t I? I could. I would.
“No wonder you have a headache. Is your neck as bad as your shoulders?” Hope didn’t answer. I didn’t need her to. I lifted a hand and found out for myself. It wasn’t as bad as her shoulders, it was worse. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”
We’d worked through the normal dinner hour and it was late. Not quite bedtime, but close enough. Hope’s eyes drooped shut, her body easing as she relaxed into me. I worked her muscles with my thumbs and fingers until she was all loose limbs and stillness. She was so still I wondered if she was asleep.
“Hope?”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you tense anywhere else? Here?” Her back plastered to my front, I stroked my fingertips down her shoulders to cup her breasts, strumming her nipples with my thumbs. She squirmed in my lap, my cock flexing against the curve of her ass.
I touched her without urgency. Without demand. This wasn’t going anywhere. Not for me. We didn’t have an ending in sight, I just wanted to touch and tease. To give her a nice orgasm before she slipped into sleep.
Hope arched her back, letting out a low moan, pressing her breasts into my hands and rubbing against me. I dipped a hand between her thighs and stroked one finger inside, not surprised to find her already wet.
Tomorrow, I reminded myself. She’s sore. You can get back in there tomorrow. So fucking tight and wet, her hips rocking up into my hand. She might get nervous in the beginning, but once I touched her, Hope’s instincts were spot on.
Another stroke of my fingers against her clit, swirling and dipping inside just the smallest bit before going back for another tease of that swollen bud. Hope squirmed, a keening sound vibrating in her throat. Abruptly she rolled, her hands closing over my shoulders for balance as she straddled my lap, trapping my hard cock against the heat of her pussy.
Bliss. Fucking bliss. Being inside her was the only thing better. This was almost as good. Her mouth found mine. With the touch of her lips, Hope unleashed all the hunger, all the demand I’d been holding back.
Hope opened her mouth to mine without hesitation, her tongue stroking, just as hungry. Just as demanding. How could my calm, serious Hope be hiding so much passion? She gave a low, desperate moan as she rocked her hips into mine. My hands closed over her ass and I ground her slick pussy against my cock, thrusting hard, knowing it wouldn’t be long before I came.
Not until she did. I had to see her come again, the flush of pleasure across her face, the sounds she made, breathless and greedy and overwhelmed by pleasure. Her knees gripping my hips, she rode me harder, faster, sliding against the slick porcelain until she almost lost her purchase and shoved us both under the water.
Her frantic movements sent the first wave cascading over the side of the tub, the splash background noise to her orgasm. Hope tore her mouth from mine, crying out. Her pussy pulsed against me, scalding my cock, driving me over the edge before I could stop.
Hope owned me.
I was no inexperienced boy. I’d been in charge of my orgasms for a long time. Not anymore. Not since I got my hands on Hope. Coming in the tub was unlikely to get her pregnant, but it wasn’t exactly safe sex either. Fuck me. So many years as Mr. In Control, and now a few days with Hope Daniels—Hope Daniels—and I was worse than a teenager.
Hope collapsed against me, rubbing her cheek against my collarbone, pressing light kisses into my wet skin. “I don’t have a headache anymore,” she murmured sleepily.
“Neither do I. Are you ready for bed?”
“Mmm-Hmm.”
She was half asleep already. I slid her to the side and reached to let the water out of the tub. The floor wasn’t an inch deep in water, but it was far from dry. Climbing from the tub, I said, “Stay put for a second,” and reached for a towel, looking back to see Hope’s eyes slitted open, a satisfied little smile on her mouth.
“Are you checking out my ass?” I asked, amused. She could check out my ass anytime she wanted.
“Maybe.”
I tossed my towel on the floor to soak up the water and grabbed another, reaching for Hope’s hand. “Careful, it’s slippery.” I wrapped the towel around her, pressing a kiss to the curve of her cheek.
The bed was so close. I’d tuck her in beside me, naked and warm, and—
The crash of shattering porcelain sliced through the silence beyond the door. Something else falling, breaking, and voices raised in alarm. Tightening the towel around Hope I said, “Stay here. Don’t leave this room. Do you understand?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Griffen
Fear chased away her post-orgasmic haze. Hope blinked up at me and nodded, eyes grave, closing her fingers around the towel. “Go. I’m okay here.”
“Don’t leave the room,” I repeated, dragging on my clothes, grabbing my weapon from beside the tub, and racing for the bedroom door, my feet still damp from the bath.
The hall outside the master suite was dim, lit only by sconces turned low. The voices were coming from the hall beyond the head of the staircase. The one that led to the wing with my siblings’ bedrooms.
I should have gone to check the courtyard. Hope thought she saw something and I was so intent on getting her naked I’d convinced myself it was no big deal. I had to stop letting my cock run my brain. This wasn’t just about me. Hope and Savannah were here. I
had a family to protect.
I rounded the corner and stopped short.
Sterling sprawled at the top of the steps, arms laid wide, golden hair trailing across her face. Savannah crouched beside her, tugging on her hand. “Sterling, come on, get up.”
Sterling rolled to her side, torso heaving before she grumbled, “Don’t wanna. Sleeping here.”
This was not Savannah’s job. We had specifically discussed the fact that dealing with my sister on a bender was not her job. Fucking hell.
“Leave her there,” I said to Savannah. “I’ve got her. Any mess she makes, she’s going to clean up.”
Savannah let go of Sterling and stepped away. “No argument here. You sure you’ve got this?”
Grimly, I confirmed, “I’ve got this.”
With a shake of her head, Savannah took off. She was no fool. I had my arms hooked under Sterling’s armpits and was hauling her to her feet when I heard a sound behind me.
“She okay?”
Hope.
“I told you to stay in the room.” I looked over my shoulder to find her wearing her robe. Not the dark blue silk one I’d taken off her earlier in the day, this one was fluffy and pink. Ugly, but it looked comfortable as hell.
“I know,” she answered, watching Sterling with wary concern. “I heard her voice. I knew it was Sterling.”
I wanted to argue with her, tell her she should have listened to me anyway, but I didn’t have time. Sterling was wobbling on her feet, her body hitching as if she was getting ready to hurl.
“I have to get her to her room,” I said, hauling her into my arms and striding to the corridor. Hope followed behind, then raced ahead to throw Sterling’s door open. Both of us paused on the threshold, my little sister’s room still an unholy pit of disaster.
I set Sterling back on her feet, turning her to face her bathroom. Unsteady, she raised her head, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and spotted Hope. “Hope? What ‘ya doin’ here?”
Hope reached out to turn Sterling in the direction of her bathroom, murmuring, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I think you need—”
A spasm shook Sterling’s body and she threw up, a fountain of vomit spewing onto Hope and the floor beyond. Swearing under my breath, I moved fast, dragging Sterling into her bathroom. She fell to her knees before the toilet, draped her arm over the seat, and retched pitifully.
I left her there, going back to check on Hope. I expected her to be pissed. She stood in the middle of Sterling’s room, her face white as a sheet, shaking, her eyes shocked and wide. This wasn’t anger. This was something else.
“Baby. What’s wrong?” Hope’s eyes settled on mine. Wild. Terrified. I reached out to touch, but she shook me off.
“Take care of Sterling. I’m just going to go—I just need to—I need to get the smell off me. I can’t stand the smell. I can’t—I can’t stand the smell. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Griffen, I have to go—”
“Go. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? I just have to make sure she’s—”
Hope was gone. She disappeared down the hall, her feet pounding on the hardwood as she took off back to our suite.
Getting thrown up on was gross. No question. And nobody liked the smell of vomit. Hope’s reaction had been something else. Something worse. I’d dig into that later. She was right, I had to take care of my little sister.
Sterling had everything under control. Stomach empty, she flushed the toilet and got to her feet without looking at me. After shoving her face under the faucet, she rinsed both it and her mouth.
I stood in the center of her bedroom, staring at the splash of vomit on the carpet and watching as she went through the motions of caring for herself. She was wobbly and off-balance, but she brushed her teeth and pulled back her hair in motions so practiced I knew this happened far more often than it should.
Sterling stumbled out of the bathroom and came up short at the sight of me. “Griffen. Thought you were a dream. I got sick.”
“I know. You threw up on Hope.”
Sterling shrugged a shoulder. “Sorry.”
“I’m not the one you have to apologize to. Get in bed. We need to talk.”
“Don’t wanna talk.” Fully clothed, probably with specks of vomit on her shirt, she climbed into her unmade bed, pulling the covers up around her.
She was sleeping on her stomach. Good news if she threw up again. I drew in a breath, planning to blast her, to lay it out and tell her how it was going to be now that I was in charge.
Tugging the blanket closer to her chin, a whimper escaped. “You left us. Didn’t think you’d ever come back.”
You left us.
I’d never thought about it like that. She’d been a child. Not even ten years old. She was right. I had left. The others, Royal and Tenn and Finn, even Avery and Quinn, I could have expected to speak up for me. To reach out or answer my letters. But Sterling? She’d been a child, her mother dead, her father disinterested.
From all accounts, Sterling had spent the last decade drinking and doing God knew what else to wipe away her pain. On top of that, she’d just lost her only parent, shitty father though he was. She was grieving.
Maybe I needed to cut her some slack. Breathing in the scent of fresh vomit layered over old, I revised that thought. I could give her compassion. She was my baby sister, after all. I wouldn’t be cutting her any slack that ended up with another episode like this.
I sat on the edge of her bed after checking it for puke or grime, and pulled the covers up, tucking them tightly around her. Stroking her hair from her face, I waited until her breath was even and deep, her body relaxed in sleep. Her stomach was empty, and she’d probably feel like hell in the morning, but I didn’t think she’d throw up again.
I found Hope getting out of the shower, the color back in her face but something about her still fragile.
“Hey,” I said.
Her head rose and she gave me a weak, embarrassed smile. “She okay?”
I shrugged. “As okay as she can be for now. Are you okay?” I waited, expecting her to pretend her flight from Sterling’s room had been no big deal.
She didn’t answer, disappearing into the closet. I resisted the urge to follow and watch her drop that towel. Instead, I went to the corner of the sitting room and the clever little station Savannah had set up. Brewing a cup of tea, I spooned in a liberal dose of honey.
By the time it was ready, Hope had reappeared in a loose cotton sleep shirt that reached to her knees. She probably thought she didn’t look sexy. Little did she know the thin cotton clung to her damp curves in an appealing tease. I sat on the brown velvet couch and held out the tea.
She took it with a grateful smile and sat, sipping, the silence stretching between us.
“I’m sorry I didn’t help with Sterling. I—”
“She threw up on you, Hope. I think you get a pass.” A ghost of a smile touched her mouth and faded. “You didn’t seem grossed out. You looked scared. Why did that scare you, Hope?”
Hope took a slow sip of her tea, studying the brown velvet of the couch, worrying the nap with her fingertips. It took everything I had not to push. I didn’t know why this was important, I just knew it was. She took another sip. Then another. I waited.
Eventually, “She reminded me of my mother. I haven’t thought about her in so long, but the smell of vomit and the way she was slurring her words, the way she just didn’t care—” Hope’s voice choked off.
I wanted more. I wanted to slide over on the couch, take the tea from her hands and pull her into my arms. She looked too alone sitting over there, clutching her teacup and studying the steam. I didn’t move. Hope was lost in memory, and I had the odd sensation that if I touched her she’d disappear in a puff of smoke.
“I don’t really drink,” she went on. “I usually avoid being around people who are drinking. I can
’t—I know it was a long time ago, but I can’t handle it.”
“When was the last time you saw your mother?”
“I was eight. They’d left me. Again. Five days, that time. Uncle Edgar stopped by. He was in town on business. I wouldn’t have opened the door—I knew better—but I remembered he was Momma’s brother. And I was hungry. The can opener broke, and I couldn’t make any soup.”
I was reeling. So much in so few words. She’d been left alone as a child. She’d been hungry. I cleared my throat. “They left you alone?”
Hope’s haunted eyes lifted to mine. “I knew how to make soup and peanut butter and jelly. I taught myself how to make grilled cheese, but once I left the dishtowel too close to the stove. They were home that time. I got a whoopin’ and locked in my room, but at least I didn’t burn the place down.”
I didn’t want to ask what a whoopin’ entailed to parents who didn’t mind leaving their eight-year-old alone for almost a week. I remembered what Hope had said.
“Edgar saved you.”
Chapter Thirty
Griffen
He’d visited before. Once or twice. They always knew he was coming and cleaned the place up. Stayed sober.” She considered. “More sober. I don’t think I remember ever seeing either of them completely sober. He gave them money. I think it was for me. For food and clothes.”
“But they spent it on alcohol?”
“Liquor, drugs. Mostly drugs. Rarely food.”
“And they left you? Where did they go?” Stupid questions, but I didn’t know what to say. This was so far outside my realm of experience, and the idea of Hope abandoned, neglected, burned deep inside.
I remembered what she looked like the first time Edgar had brought her to Heartstone Manor. So thin and frail a strong wind could have blown her down. I hadn’t paid that much attention. I’d been a fourteen-year-old boy. I’d asked my father if she’d been sick and he told me it wasn’t my business, that she’d be fine. And she had been.
In answer to my question, Hope shrugged a shoulder and took another sip of her tea. “I have no idea where they went. Somewhere. They came home wasted with a supply of drugs, so I don’t know. I never knew what they did to earn the money they used to buy the stuff. I think—there was a man—he came to the apartment sometimes. He—he touched my mother—even that young, I knew a stranger shouldn’t touch her like that, but she didn’t say no and my father was always—” Another shrug.
