Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

I’m reluctant to agree, but I find myself nodding anyway. What on earth have I just let myself in for? We’re not even naked and I’m already set to scream in ecstasy. Good God, this could be torturous. Then his finger slips past the seam of my knickers and that could be turns into a definitely. My jaw tightens, and I swallow hard, closing my eyes and praying silently to God. His hot touch teases my flesh for an eternity, like he’s testing me, seeing if I can fulfil my agreement to keep quiet. It’s looking doubtful, but I’m determined to try.

‘Good girl,’ he whispers, his breath tickling my ear as he moves in closer, his fingertip lightly rounding my clitoris painfully slowly. My hands are aching from the harsh grip I have of his shoulders, the feel of lean muscle beneath spiking flashbacks of his chest. ‘You feel good, princess. So fucking good.’ He slips his finger out of my knickers, his words and action prompting my eyes to open. There’s still evidence of that salacious smirk as he brings his finger up and removes his palm from my mouth. ‘Open.’

My lips part and he slips his finger into my mouth, raising his eyebrows in a silent instruction that I catch immediately. But he voices his wish anyway.

‘Suck.’

I close my mouth and do as I’m bid, relishing the carnal want in his eyes as he concentrates on my tongue lapping slowly at his finger. His head tilts thoughtfully, then he slowly brings his eyes back to mine, withdrawing his finger lazily. ‘On a scale of one to ten,’ he murmurs, low and husky, dipping and nibbling at my bottom lip delicately, ‘how turned on are you right now, princess?’

The back of my head meets the wall, surprised by his question, even if it’s dead easy to answer. ‘Ten.’ I’m not stroking his ego. I’m pulsing everywhere, ready to sacrifice anything to maintain this feeling of ecstasy. I’m not stunned by my admission. I know Becker Hunt is bad news, but right now he’s making me feel too good to question what I’m getting myself into.

A devilish grin appears, making his boyish good looks more boyish, and his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his head shaking mildly. ‘Trust me, princess.’ He plants a chaste kiss on my lips, then rests his forehead on mine. ‘You’re not even at a one on the pleasure scale yet.’

Now, I’m stunned, and my wide eyes show it. ‘What?’ A one? The pleasure scale? No, I’m at a ten. He needs to trust me on that.

‘I’m about to pleasure you like you’ve never been pleasured before.’ He pulls me from the wall and hoists me up his body, my legs automatically spreading and wrapping around his waist. He’s looking up at me, his hazel eyes darkening as he starts to carry me up the stairs.

‘Cocky.’ I have to stop myself from laughing at his arrogance. I can’t prevent my thighs from clenching, though. His conceitedness shouldn’t be attractive, but as I expect his declaration to be 100 per cent correct, it’s hard not to be totally bewitched by him.

‘But true,’ he adds, coming to a stop at my front door. ‘Down.’ He pushes my legs from his body and takes my purse from me, helping himself to the keys in my hands. I give them up willingly, freezing when he moves in, pushing his front into mine. He opens the door over my shoulder, putting his mouth to my ear and blowing softly. ‘Get inside.’ Every nerve ending explodes, and I wobble on my heels.

I can’t move. My situation has just hit me hard, and I can’t figure out why I’m not stopping this. He’s a modern-day Casanova – I’ve seen the proof and had it confirmed by his dear old grandad and Mrs Potts. He drives me wild, and not always in the best way. He’s in therapy, for crying out loud, and could possibly put me in therapy too. He destroyed my fucking phone in a tantrum. He has unhealthy relationships with women, unhealthy ways of dealing with his parents’ deaths. He’s going to fuck me. Nothing more. No feelings. No affection. I’m going to be another conquest, another woman who’s about to be charmed into bed by him. I’ve lost all self-respect. I must have. So why my feet are moving, stepping back into my tiny apartment, is beyond me. I’ve lost my fucking mind.

The door closes, and Becker relaxes against the wood, looking me up and down, taking his time about it too. My condition is plain to see. I’m shifting from one heel to the other, my hands twitching by my sides, and my mouth is open slightly to grab valuable oxygen. Oh my days, he looks poised, ready to pounce. ‘Take off your dress, Eleanor.’ He drops my things to the floor.