and my eyes close, my mind spiralling into complete chaos. Stop this, Eleanor, you fool. Why are you getting yourself into this situation?
A slight squeeze of my cheek prompts me to open my eyes and face my situation. Becker is my situation.
‘Do you want me?’ His chest expands. Now he’s holding his breath, bracing himself for what I might say. This isn’t the behaviour of a confident man who always gets what he wants. He’s unsure. Nervous.
‘We can’t. We shouldn’t.’ I splutter the words through my increasingly ragged breathing.
‘We should,’ he replies quickly and surely, and I withdraw a little on a swallow.
‘Why?’ He needs to give me one good reason. Or maybe he doesn’t.
‘Because I’m going to lose my fucking mind if we don’t. I might lose it if we do, too. Who the fuck knows? But I’ve been slowly going mad since you crashed into my Haven, and I can’t watch you getting lost in my treasure any more without knowing what it feels like to kiss you.’ His eyes root to my lips as they part, my heart going wild. ‘Tell me you’re on the same page, princess.’
Oh fuck. ‘You win.’ The words are out before I can locate my willpower and dignity, and a carnal expression washes over his features, full of sex and power.
His hand moves to my nape and fists my hair tightly in his grasp. ‘Of course I’ve won,’ he growls, then moves forward fast, crushing his mouth to mine. He literally takes my breath away with the force of his lips on mine. His tongue plunges deep and demanding, swirling and stabbing as his hand in my hair holds me in place. My whole being comes to life and I accept it all, everything – the vigour, the power, the deep ache between my thighs. It’s not long before I begin to voice my pleasure, moaning as I match his force, devouring him.
‘Shut the fuck up, Eleanor,’ he demands harshly, yanking at my hair. This should bother me. I should be pushing him off, telling him to fuck right off with his commands . . . except I like it. The build-up of frustration is draining away under his taking of me, because that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s taking me – unapologetically and however the hell he likes. Rough and dirty. Because I said yes. I gave in. I can no longer resist him.
I try to keep quiet as instructed, even as my hands find his shoulders and grab tightly, loving the feel of his bunched muscles beneath his T-shirt. I’ve seen these shoulders. Perfect shoulders.
‘Becker,’ I gasp into his mouth, earning myself a sharp yank of my hair again. I inhale sharply when he releases my lips, my eyes flying open. He’s panting as he burns holes in me with the intensity of his stare, then roughly knocks my knees apart, making space for him to move into.
Which he does.
Slowly.
My heart bashes against my breastbone as he continues to fist my hair, moving his other hand to my lower back. I’m pulled into him with one easy tug until our torsos meet and every nerve ending explodes. ‘Shit,’ I whisper, searching his eyes, seeing raw hunger in them. I’m pretty sure the same hunger is in mine. I’ve never been so turned on.
Becker begins to nod slowly in agreement as his face moves closer, his attention dropping to my lips.
This is crazy. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘You can.’
‘No.’
‘Stop it then.’ His lips are a whisper away from mine. ‘Go on, Eleanor. Stop it.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Exactly.’ His voice is pure sex, and my body thrums. ‘I’m going to violate you in the most delicious ways imaginable, princess.’ Our lips brush a little, and I exhale in a sigh of surrender, falling into the soft motions of his kiss when he slips his tongue between my lips and swirls gently.
Then the sharp sound of barking makes us both jump.
No. Not now, Winston.
I’m released fast, Becker flying back, looking a little dazed and confused. The loss of support has me wobbling on the worktop, grabbing the edges to stabilise myself. The woofing continues, and I watch as Becker rakes a hand through his mussed hair, looking around the kitchen, disorientated.
I slip down from the counter and do my best to compose myself, but it’s an epic fail. I feel like I could spontaneously combust. I’m so hot. Flustered. Lustful.
‘What the fuck, Winston?’ Becker asks when his eyes finally find his dog a few feet away.