Page 72 of Holding Hope

Her hands found my body again, guiding me, urging me, pushing me as I moved against her.

“Please,” I whispered, breath hot against her ear. “Please, Clarke.”

She gasped as the seam of her shorts rubbed against her clit.

I wondered — if I slid my hand between us, would I feel her pulse through the fabric? I dragged my hand down her chest, over her camisole, brushing my thumb over her nipple. Clarke’s breathing deepened, her body arching into my touch.

“Do you like that?” I asked, my fingers drifting lower.

Her eyes rolled back as my hand reached the seam of her shorts. Clarke looked up at me, her face flushed and perfect as she nodded before her soft blue eyes rolled back into her head as my fingers reached her pussy.

God, she was soaking. And it was all for me? A laugh bubbled out of my chest when she arched her back as my fingers curled and pumped deep inside her. One. Two. Three. Steady and deliberate, each time I could feel her body squirm beneath me, her breathing heavy.

Clarke moaned, legs tightening beneath me.

“Fuck, fuck⁠—”

I pulled back slightly, only for her to grab my wrist.

“No. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

A slow, wicked smile curled at my lips. Well, well.

Who was begging now?

I woke up sore, warm, and alone.

I hadn’t asked Avalon to stay beside me, but after the night we’d had — after everything we’d said and done — a small, foolish part of me expected to find her sprawled across my chest, breathing softly into my shoulder.

Deep down, I wanted that. But I knew better.

What we’d done was already a mistake, one we couldn’t undo. Crossing that line meant there was no going back, and if we’d both been willing to cross it… surely that meant something?

Apparently not. Not if I was waking up alone again.

I pulled the duvet over my knees and yawned, stretching the stiffness from my limbs. My phone lay several feet away on the floor — of course it did. I didn’t want to get up, but curiosity tugged at me. Maybe Avalon had texted. Maybe she’d said something. Anything.

But she hadn’t the last time. Why would she start now?

I flopped back into my pillows, only to be interrupted by the unmistakable smell of burning bacon. My stomach growled.

I never cooked in the kitchenette — I always ate in the Farm House with my parents — so who on earth was⁠—

A crash. Glass shattering. Then a string of curse words in a dramatic Valley Girl accent.

I stifled a laugh, threw off the covers, and searched for my discarded shorts. Once I found them, I slipped into my rabbit-shaped slippers and padded out into the kitchen.

Avalon was dancing around a broken plate on the floor, trying to salvage what looked like scrambled eggs, toast, and the burnt bacon I’d smelled.

Sliding onto a barstool, I rested my chin in my palm and watched her with quiet amusement.

“I think that plate is trashed, Avalon,” I said, laughter muffled behind my hand.

She nearly jumped onto the counter. “Jesus fuck, Clarke!” She spun around, pale as linen, hand over her heart. “You need to learn it’s not okay to sneak up on people and scare the ever-loving shit out of them!”

“Ever-loving?” I teased. “Have we turned you into a cowgirl already?”

She grinned proudly. “I learned that one from Melly.”