My Cruel Lover (Wicked Poison 3)

“I’m your employee,” she says through heavy breaths.

“That you are. But right now, you are anything but my employee, wouldn’t you say?” I ask as I reach my hand between us.

She gasps. “Yes. Yes … I very much would.”

My mouth falls to her tit, and I take her nipple between my teeth. As I pull on it, she moves her body up, pushing me even closer until she wraps her legs around me.

“Tell me what you want?” I ask, moving to her entrance but not pushing in.

“You.”

“How do you want me?” I tease as I move to her other breast.

“In me. Now.”

“So demanding,” I answer, pushing in slightly.

“So annoying,” she grumbles, putting her heels on my ass and pushing me farther into her.

And down the rabbit hole, I go.

Literally.

Hers.

And I will gladly go there time and time again to get lost in a sea of hazel and soft smiles paired with tender kisses.

Fuck.

I’m there.

Chapter 25

Jacinta

I wake to Beckham lying next to me. His breathing is heavy as he sleeps on his stomach, one hand cast over my waist, pinning me to the bed. Which I might add, we aren’t even sleeping on the right way. I turn my head and check the time. It’s still early. I must have gotten only a few hours’ sleep, but I have to rise because Anderson’s dad is taking Oliver to the circus today to give me a chance to do Mom things while he’s gone for a few hours.

Cleaning. Groceries. You name it.

Slowly, I try to remove Beckham’s hand, careful not to wake him as I climb out of bed. I only get so far before his hand catches and pulls me back down. His face goes to my chest, and he holds me to him.

“I need to get up to get Oliver ready.”

“Grrr …” There are more words, but I can’t figure out what he says. After he’s finished speaking, his arm loosens, and he lets me go. I pull away and look down. His eyes are half-closed from sleep, but he is watching me.

“You look hot.”

“Not gorgeous? Not delectable? Just hot?” I scoff, reaching for a dress and throwing it over my head.

“No, you look fucking fantastic. So fucking good, I have to stay on my stomach because my cock has other ideas, and those ideas involve you. But because you have to tend to your son, I will keep my words to letting you know you’re hot, at least until we’re alone and I can ravish your body with my tongue and cock. That any better?” he asks, brow raised, the other one half covered by the pillow. “I suggest you answer and leave before I decide to lock you in here with me and have my way with you again and again.”

“You better go back to sleep.”

I step out the door and close it behind me. Leaning my body on it, I take a few deep breaths as my hand lays on my beating heart.

I think …

… I love him.

I’ve never felt this way for a man. Ever. I would never allow one to come into my house and sleep under the same roof as me if I didn’t trust him.

And I do trust him.

And I don’t trust many men.

Managing to move, I get Oliver’s breakfast ready before he comes into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and going straight to the table where his bowl sits.

“Is Beckham coming out for breakfast?” Oliver asks, looking up from his iPad.

My eyes go wide at his words, and then I blink a few times. My words are caught in my throat.

“Sure am. What you cooking me?” Beckham asks, stepping out fully dressed.

How did he do that so fast?

Beckham sits next to Oliver and grins at my shocked expression. He leans over and scruffs the top of Oliver’s head. “Oliver here ran into the room this morning, so I put him back to bed,” Beckham explains.

I look at Oliver. “What was wrong?”

“He needed water,” Beckham answers for him. “Easy fix.”

Oliver looks back down to his iPad as I place another bowl of cereal in front of Beckham. He smiles as he takes it, then leans over to watch whatever Oliver is doing. I head to my bathroom, pausing to glance back at them—both their heads in sync as they stare at the screen.

After fixing my face and hair, I go back out to find Beckham cleaning the kitchen as Oliver is getting ready.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say as Beckham pauses and peers at me over his shoulder.

“I used it … I can most certainly wash it.” He doesn’t understand what that small gesture does to me. I’m so used to being alone that having someone choose to help me warms my heart.

“Did you love him?” Beckham asks, not looking my way.