Page 101 of Holding Hope

There was something in her tone—not fear, but vulnerability. Trust. And I felt that trust settle deep in my chest.

I cupped her face gently, brushing my thumb across her lower lip.“I am going to eat that sweet little pussy of yours until you’re dripping down my face, begging for me to stop.”

Wordlessly, I followed Clarke’s command. Just as before, the quiet and sudden change in her demeanor both aroused and frightened me.

I couldn’t quite explain what it was was or how exactly it felt watching her sweet and almost shy persona slip away, replaced with this cool and dominant character.

Which was the mask? Was this yet another façade? A ruse that she had her shit together, or was this who she really was when the day ended?

My back had just barely touched the cool wall when Clarke sank to the ground, her fingers quickly working at the giant belt buckle that held up my shorts.

“You know,” she said half handedly. “In cowboy culture, belt buckles are earned. Through hard work and occasionally, blood and tears.”

With a loud click, the buckle popped open and I felt the jean material grow loose around my hips. Clarke sat back on her heels, a satisfied smile on her face.

Hooking her thumbs into two of the loops on my shorts, she slowly pulled them down my hip and over my thighs, reducing me to a pair of red panties and my cropped tee.

Several random stick-n-poke tattoos decorated my legs in an inconsistent pattern. I smiled slightly as she traced several of them curiously.

And then, all movement stopped and I held my breath. She had found them. Scattered between the random patches of ink, she had found the scars I had hoped faded.

The ones I had purposely placed there on the nights when it all felt hopeless. When I felt like I needed to punish myself for putting myself in the position to be assaulted.

When I found myself believing all the things my parents said about me. That I was just a talentless and self absorbed pit of half assed attempts at greatness.

I didn’t want to believe them, but some days—on the dark days, it felt like I had no choice but to believe that the problem was me. When the only way to ease the pain in my chest was to take it out on my body.

“I’m sorry this place was so cruel to you,” Clarke murmured, gently running her thumb across the white lines in my skin. “I’m sorry they weren’t kinder.”

I blinked rapidly, not expecting those to be the words that came from her mouth. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, trying to force their way out.

“It’s okay⁠—“

“No,” she shook her head before raising her gaze up at me again. “No it’s not. It should never have come to this and-and…” her voice faltered. “I can’t begin to try to understand how it feels to be in your position, to have grown up with the parents that you had, but I want you to know that I am here.”

For you. I finished her sentence in my head. I am here…for you.

A salty wetness ran over the top of my lip and I felt my throat tighten. Fuck, those tears had fought their way out. I blinked again, not wanting to burst into an entire fit of tears in front of Clarke.

Almost as if she sensed it, in lightening speed, Clarke rose to her feet and cupped my face again.

“No, no,” she muttered, swiping at the stray tears with her thumbs. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry.” She kissed my damp cheeks repeatedly, murmuring the words over and over again.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

But how could I not? How could I not collapse into her arms and pour my heart out? She was here, she was seeing me at my worst, and yet she was still here.

Still wanting me. Still kissing me. Still choosing me.

“Kiss me,” I begged, nuzzling her face with my nose. “Kiss me until I forget about the awful things I’ve done to myself and all that’s left is evidence of this moment. The moment where you chose me.”

Clarke’s light eyes scanned my face, as if she was making sure I was okay. “Avalon, I would choose you over and over.” She pressed her warm lips to mine. “Every single fucking day.”

Leaning back, she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and frowned. “I’m just sorry I didn’t make that choice sooner.”

I placed my hands over her wrists and leaned into her palm. “It wasn’t your fault—what I did was really shitty. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hated me forever.”

Clarke chuckled and shook her head. “You make it very hard to hate you.”