Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

I’m aching for his touch. Aching for him. It takes every scrap of willpower to stay where I am, and a bit more when he abandons me and makes his way over to the dresses, his inked back being waved like a red flag. I can see him adjusting his groin as he goes.

‘This one first,’ he says, unhooking the black dress from the hanger and unzipping it as he wanders back to my pulsing form. No amount of deep breathing is steadying my shakes, or my thrilled heartbeat. I know what’s coming, yet I have no inclination to hinder Becker’s intentions. Even my backside is tensing excitedly in preparation. Whether business or pleasure, this man thrills me no end.

Making a point of keeping his eyes on my reddening face, he sinks to his knees before me and holds the dress open at my feet. I get no vocal order, just a sharp nod of his head, so I step in and pray to every resistance god to help me hold it together as Becker pulls the black leather up my body, arranging it slowly around my boobs. He then turns me to face the wall. The sound of the zipper being fastened is the only noise as he calmly pulls it up. Until my restricted lungs drain of air. The irony of this whole situation doesn’t escape me. I’m panting like a dog on heat, like he could be slowly stripping me rather than dressing me.

My red locks are gathered and tied up meticulously. ‘Shoulders,’ he says simply, kissing one before the other. I bring my palms up to the wall before he can demand it, relaxing. It doesn’t matter if I close my eyes or force them to remain open. Either way, my arse is taking whatever Becker decides to dish out.

Placing steady hands on my hips, he walks me back until I’m in position. ‘It’s tight,’ he muses, crouching behind me and resting a fire hot fingertip on my ankle bone. ‘Could be tricky getting it to where I want it to be.’ That fingertip trails up the inside of my leg, past my knee to my inside thigh as he rises with it. I swallow down the scratchy dryness in my throat. ‘Let’s try.’ Smoothing his hands down my hips, he reaches the hem of the leather and takes hold but tortures me by delaying his next move. Crazily, I’m silently pleading for him to hurry things along. His lips meet my neck and suck gently, pushing a strangled moan past my lips. ‘Does my filthy princess want me to spank her?’

‘Yes,’ I don’t hold back. My want is obvious in every breath I draw and every twitch of my buzzing body.

‘Does she love me indulging in this gorgeous arse?’ He bites my neck and thrusts his groin against me severely. I whimper my desperation, and he growls possessively. On a swift, brutal yank, my dress is whipped up to my waist, jolting my body as it goes, exposing my naked backside to his glimmering hazel eyes. ‘Fuck . . . me,’ he sighs, relinquishing all contact. My forehead meets the wall, my eyes squeezing tightly shut. ‘Take your head away from the wall, princess.’

I comply immediately, knowing there’s a damn good reason for his request, and then his hand meets my arse on an ear-piercing smack.

‘Fuck,’ I whisper, the flames instant, and so is the waterfall between my thighs. His hand goes straight between my legs, his fingers sinking into the wetness and spreading far and wide. On a frustrated shout, I ball my fists and clench my teeth, allowing the pleasure to override the sting.

‘Beautiful.’ His front meets my back, his arm curling around my waist and locking me to him tightly. ‘Give me that mouth,’ he orders, nuzzling into my cheek to encourage me. My head turns, my lips finding his in a heartbeat, my balled fists relaxing back into flat palms against the wall. I’m kissed like there’s no tomorrow, ravenously, our tongues duelling, my mind bending.

Then he abruptly pulls away a little, leaving me gasping in his face. ‘I like this one,’ he says, husky and low, flexing his hips into my back to show me just how much. He’s lead behind his sweatpants as he unzips me and lets the leather tumble to the floor. ‘Step out.’ I obey without hesitation, looking down to my feet. He kicks the dress to the side carelessly. His action tells me that the black number isn’t an option at all. The dress is leather, therefore sticks, therefore doesn’t make for a smooth transition from a covered arse to an exposed one. Becker’s considered that in his dirty mind. That dress is a no.

I’m left holding myself up for a few moments while he collects option number two – the green one – and I take a risky peek over my shoulder, groaning under my breath at the sight of his magnificent back. The lines of ink are rolling as he reaches up to the hanger and removes the dress, and though it kills me to relinquish the beautiful view, I quickly face the wall when I see him start to turn. Keep it together, Eleanor.