Page 69 of Holding Hope

Her voice faltered, the rest swallowed by fear.

“Tell me what you want, Clarke,” I whispered. “Or at least put me out of my misery. Tell me what you need.”

Her lips parted again, her eyes dropping to mine.

She was seconds away from giving in — I could see it.

Want and defiance warring across her face.

“I need—” Her breath hitched. “God, I need you.”

The words had barely left her mouth before she surged forward, crushing her lips to mine and pinning me against the wall.

Her teeth tugged at my lips, her hands pulling me closer, erasing every inch of space between us.

Pleasure and relief crashed over me in equal measure.

It hadn’t just been weeks of pent-up frustration.

It had been almost four months.

Four months of trying — and failing — to want anyone else.

Finally, kissing Clarke was nothing like the half-hearted kiss I’d endured earlier.

I hadn’t been present then.

I hadn’t wanted it.

But I’d tried anyway.

Stupid me.

Silly, stupid me.

I was making a mistake—but God, it was a beautiful one.

Avalon’s mouth, her touch, the way our lips found the same rhythm as if they’d been waiting for this moment… everything was familiar, yet somehow sharper. More urgent. More real.

Her hands gripped at me with a kind of hungry desperation, pulling me closer until there was no space left to breathe. The barn was silent except for the ticking of the old clock and the soft, breathless sounds we made against each other. She tasted exactly as she had four months ago — peppermint and longing.

She needed this. She needed me. And I needed her just as badly.

“Come with me,” I whispered against her flushed lips.

I stepped back just enough to look at her — really look at her. Her gray eyes were glazed over with the same heat that had gotten us into trouble the first time. She bit her bottom lip, letting it fall slowly, and nodded.

A pulse of want tightened low in my stomach.

I cupped her chin, brushing my thumb over her lip before kissing her again — soft, firm, claiming. A quiet sound escaped her, something between a sigh and a moan, and it nearly undid me.

I led her toward my bedroom. She followed without hesitation, her hands sliding over my hips, wordless but insistent.

The moment we reached the bed, she pushed me gently onto the baby-blue duvet, hovering over me with a look that was nothing short of ravenous. I’d seen that look before—in the dim light of her aunt’s club months ago— that raw, unfiltered hunger.

She kissed me again, deeper this time, and the world narrowed to the heat of her mouth and the way her body pressed against mine. Everything blurred into sensation — her breath, her hands, the soft drag of her lips along my jaw, the way she whispered my name like it was something sacred.

Clothes shifted. Skin met skin.