Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

He’s been honest with me.

I steel myself to take a gigantic leap of faith, never letting my eyes stray from his. I’m not out of fight – I have plenty of fight – but am I fighting the wrong thing here? I can’t ignore my heart. It’s telling me to believe. ‘I’m miserable without you,’ I admit. ‘Empty. Lacking purpose. Unfulfilled.’

Becker deflates before my eyes and moves, taking my chin and getting nose-to-nose with me. ‘You never have to be without me.’ He takes my mouth gently, kissing me with a tenderness I’ve never felt from him before.

I whimper. It’s a sound of surrender.

Becker growls. It’s a sound of power.

And those two signs pave the way for my future.

Is it wrong to want him this much after everything? I don’t know, but I feel like a valve has been released on my head, relieving my mind of the pressure of thinking. All I can focus on is my heart, and it’s telling me I’ve chosen right.

I meet his soft rolling tongue and cling onto him. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispers, working kisses up to my ear and back down again. ‘Jesus, Eleanor, I’ve missed you so much.’ He bites my bottom lip and drags it through his teeth, watching me as he does. ‘I want you to repeat after me,’ he says, pushing his groin into my lower tummy, hiking that unrelenting desire for him. ‘Becker Hunt owns me.’ He watches me closely. ‘Say it.’ His jaw pulses from constantly biting down on his back teeth, his angel eyes darkening as they stare me down. ‘Say it, princess,’ he breathes, desperate and hungry, every part of him spilling with need. Need for me. It only enhances my fortitude and reinforces my decision. Becker Hunt needs me. And this, this thing he’s doing now, demanding I confirm he owns me, is his way of acknowledging that he doesn’t have the control here.

I breathe in his face, the strength of his body compressed to mine feeling natural. His weakness makes me feel stronger. ‘You will never own me.’ I strain the words into something close to a promise, and he smiles. We’re still playing that game, except both of us now know the rules, and I definitely know the consequences. Becker is more unpredictable than ever before. More exciting. More irresistible. More magnetic. He’s also more desperate. I’m in. Because out isn’t an option. I’ve made my choice. I love him, and his wicked truths can’t change that.

He drops a soft kiss on my abused lips, and then licks across the seam, from one side to the other. Slowly. ‘Your ride awaits.’ He weaves his fingers through my hair gently ‘Do you need to speak to your mother?’

I glance to the side, seeing the lights from the pub glowing through the windows into the darkness. She’s fine, I tell myself. She doesn’t need me. But it seems Becker Hunt does.Chapter 7I don’t remember the drive home. I can only assume the stupid amount of alcohol that I consumed caught up with me and knocked me out. I called Mum as soon as I was deposited in Becker’s car, telling her where I was going and why. She dashed out of that pub in those heels like a pro and pretty much dragged me from the car. I was worried for a moment. Until she squeezed me tightly and told me to show Becker what I’m made of. I smiled, because this time I know exactly what I’m made of. And so does Becker.

I conked out within minutes, hearing Becker in my subconscious humming along to Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’. I know I was smiling in my semi-conscious state.

I’m in his bed. It’s dark, my body warm, the smell oh so familiar. As is the sense of belonging. Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, my mind a storm of thoughts. I drop my head to the side, finding I’m alone. Where is he?

I sigh and get up, taking the sheets with me, set to go find him. As I break free of Becker’s bedroom space, my steps falter when I register music playing. Soft music. It’s familiar, one of those tracks that you know but can’t name. Glancing around, I spot a strip of blue illuminated light glowing in the wall, and I pace slowly over, finding a music system built into the wall. The neon display has the name of the track drifting across the window on loop. The Beloved’s ‘The Sun Rising’.

I watch the letters pass across the lit window for an age, the hypnotic tones making my skin tingle and my heart skip one too many beats. I swallow hard and look over my shoulder, my senses going into overdrive, all the while the words of the track stabbing at my mind, speaking to me, trying to tell me what Becker’s state of mind is. He’s close by. But he’s not here.