Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

‘I’ll never tell you to stop.’

‘I hope you fucking don’t.’ He moves fast, pulling his fingers free and rolling his hips, slamming home on a guttural yell. ‘Holy shit!’

A choked scream bursts past my lips, filling the room, the force he’s adopting almost too much to handle so suddenly. There’s no gently breaking me in. Oh no, he’s done with foreplay.

With my hands now free, I can hold something for support, and I do. My sheets get a punishing grip and a few angry yanks. He grabs my hair and fists it, drawing his groin slowly back until he’s hovering over my entrance, his hips raised. ‘I’d ask if you’re ready, but I’m not in an accommodating mood.’

‘Fuck you,’ I yell, raising my backside, egging the fucker on.

‘Oh, fighting talk.’ He slams forward, hitting me deeply and grinding super-slowly, ensuring I get to feel every inch of his cock stroking my passage. ‘You’re a bad girl, Eleanor.’

Bang!

‘Arhhhhhhh.’

‘A bad, bad girl. You made me want you. You made me want you until it drove me fucking mad.’ He pulls at my hips. ‘Up.’

My movements are sluggish as I literally drag myself on to my hands and knees, moaning in despair when his cock slides free, stimulating every nerve ending I have, making me buzz and tense and twitch and shake. I’m experiencing too many sensations. I can’t deal with it.

‘Congratulations.’ He’s mocking me. ‘You managed to fulfil a request without too much fuss.’

‘Don’t get used to it.’ I feel his fingers dig into my hips, getting a good grip, and then he levels up and launches into action, taking me by surprise, thundering forward on a deafening roar. Every breath I have is punched from my lungs under his force. And I’m not given the opportunity to get it back. He finds his pace quickly and powers on, over and over, hitting me to depths beyond my comprehension, and though the twinges of pain are there, there is also a ton of unspeakable pleasure backing it up, clouding it. My arms stiffen and brace into the mattress, my arse flying back continuously and smashing against his groin, each hit delivered with as much determination and passion as the last, if not more. And with each thrust comes a shout from Becker or a scream from me. We’re loud. Our voices. Our bodies. Sweat pours from my forehead, drips plummeting to the bed, my hair whipping from side to side, my vision becoming hazy.

I can feel the blood rushing to the tip of my clitoris, an orgasm looming, teasing me as it shows signs of bursting free, before it stubbornly retreats, denying me the opportunity to grab hold of it. My mind is making the most of this. It’s telling my hasty body to slow down, to relish the moment.

‘I’m going to come,’ Becker declares, panting each word behind me.

I panic. ‘No.’

‘Fuck, Eleanor, I can’t hold off.’

‘Just wait.’

He yells, flexing his fingers, driving on. ‘Tell me when.’

I concentrate hard, feeling the heaviness descending again, and this time I won’t allow it to retreat. No way. I’m not ending this until I have the satisfaction of a mind-bending orgasm. I can feel it. It’s coming. I’ve waited too long for this.

‘Eleanor, when?’

‘Soon,’ I breathe, ramming my backside on to him.

‘Oh Jesus, woman, you’re fucking killing me. Why the fuck am I listening to you?’

‘When,’ I scream, grabbing hold of my climax and letting it hijack every piece of me. I zone out, start to vibrate, and I can dimly hear Becker behind me moaning his release, his pace slowing, his groin rolling firmly into me, milking us both dry of pleasure.

‘Oh my fucking God.’ He collapses behind me, forcing me to fall to my front on the bed, caging me in with his solid, sweaty body. Our gasps for breath fill my flat as he throbs inside of me, my internal wall instinctively constricting and releasing around him. ‘Fuck, that feels good,’ he wheezes into my hair, and I lamely nod my head in agreement, allowing my heavy lids to close. I’m sated and content. Too content, even more so when he bites into my shoulder before tracing his lips across the top of my back to the middle, his hands dragging up my arms until they find mine. He laces his fingers through mine and squeezes gently, then gives me one last deep swivel of his hips before lazily rolling off me, falling to his back on a deep sigh. Now I know his lovely face is within my sights, my eyes open willingly and with little effort. They’re delighted by what they see – a naked Becker, panting up at the ceiling, hair damp, palm resting on his stomach, skin glistening. I push myself over on to my back and match his pose, my front thankful for the blast of cool air.