Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

He starts guiding me atop his lap, slipping in and out meticulously. ‘I’m sorry for asking if your grandmother’s ring is fake.’ I feel terrible.

‘You’re forgiven.’

‘And thank you for fixing things with your granddad.’

‘Thank you for reminding me that life’s too short.’

I find my stride in an instant, my desire still coating my inner walls, making him glide effortlessly within me. Every drive makes me shiver, the intensity of the moment making my head spin in the best possible way. Breaking our kiss, he drops his head back against the chair, his lips parted. And he stares at me, his eyes lazy and hooded as his hands on my hips guide me up and down, slowly, languidly, our breathing drenching the air around us. It doesn’t take long for the slippery friction to push me over the edge. My hands brace into his shoulders, my mouth dropping and taking his gently.

‘You’re there.’

I nod, not wanting to lose the contact of our tongues, continuing with the tender circling. I sigh, and I go on for ever with the peaceful sound as I’m submerged in pleasure like no other, letting my low hum draw out until my lungs have deflated and I’m limp on his lap.

‘Oh yeah.’ Becker gently signals his own climax with vibrating hips, holding me down so he’s immersed snuggly within me. He circles deeply and deliciously, wheedling every modicum of pleasure from us both, moulding my arse cheeks. We’re heaving. We’re sweating. We’re both clinging onto each other. And we’re sharing the gentlest of kisses, our tongues lapping lazily as we ride our climaxes.

‘Good fucking morning,’ I say huskily, smiling when I feel his lips stretch beneath mine.

He slows our kiss to a progressive stop and rains soft pecks from one side of my mouth to the other. Then he pulls away and spends some quiet time brushing some wayward strands of hair from my damp face. I sit quietly on his lap and watch him concentrate on his task, wondering what’s going through that corrupt mind of his. A few months ago, I would have made an educated guess that he would be thinking of all the delicious ways in which he could violate me. Now, I’m not so sure.

So I ask. ‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’ I reach forward and trace the edge of his nipple, continuing to watch him.

‘I’m thinking,’ he says, his gaze flicking from my mouth to my eyes again and again. ‘I’m thinking I’m the luckiest man alive. I must be. I’ve found a woman who I trust not to hand my arse to the police on a plate.’

His face is the epitome of happiness. I can’t help but match it. I grab his cheeks and smother him in kisses. I want to sleep with him every night, wake up with him every morning, have good-fucking-anything’s every day. Nothing could make me doubt what we have.

His hands cup my bottom and he stands, pushing me up over his shoulder so I have the stunning vision of his naked butt and his tattoo to feast on while he carries me from the Grand Hall.

I wanted all of his secrets.

All of him.

Now, I truly do.

I rest my hand over the map, positioning the emerald of the ring right in the centre of the missing piece. ‘Stop it,’ Becker says over his shoulder. ‘Stop it right now.’

I retract my hand and furiously try to stop my mind getting carried away. But, oh, how beautiful his tattoo is, and I can’t stop myself from wishing it was complete. ‘You could find the missing piece of the map. Doesn’t mean to say you have to find the sculpture.’

‘You know that’s ridiculous.’

‘I know,’ I sigh. ‘What would you do with it if you ever did find it?’

‘Does it matter, because I’m never going to find it?’

‘Just curious,’ I say quietly as he carries my up the stone stairs. Never find it because he won’t look, or never find it because it can’t be found?

‘Don’t be curious, Eleanor. It’s dangerous for both of us.’

I snap my mouth shut and close my eyes, denying myself the sight of the map. It spikes way too much intrigue. And I now appreciate the danger.

So why can’t I stop thinking about it?Chapter 23When I wake a few hours later and find him missing from the bed, I jump up and rush to the bathroom, and once I’m showered and have plaited my wet hair over my shoulder, I pull on a cerise pink shirt dress and tan ankle boots before heading to Becker’s office. Light hits my ring as I descend the stone staircase, and I smile down at the whopper of an emerald on my finger. It’s truly breathtakingly beautiful. Like the man who put it there.

My admiring is interrupted by the sound of my best friend’s dramatic howl, and I stutter to a stop on the stairs. Then I hear Becker curse.