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He smiles and nods down at the papers in my hand. ‘You’re already in Becker’s Circle of Trust, princess. This simply makes it official.’
I reason with myself for just a moment, because that’s how long it takes to talk myself around. I’m overthinking. This NDA is simply a measure to ensure my silence. I wouldn’t dream of breathing a word to anyone about what I’ve learned today. Discretion is part of the job, I knew that. So it really is a moot point. The rest? The added extras? Well, my stomach somersaulting is scaring me. I don’t think Becker realises how significant his moves have been – the secret entrance, the Countryscape trip, the con, the family feud. He’s inviting me in. Or dragging me. Either way, I’m not putting up much fight.
Throwing caution to the wind, I take the pen and scribble my name across the bottom of the paper messily. Done. I’m being discreet about more than I ever imagined, but it’s irrelevant. I can’t even be bothered to find the concern I should be looking for, let alone analyse it.
The pen is whipped from my hand before I can print my name below. Becker tosses it on his desk and scoops me up from the chair, cradling me in his arms. ‘Super,’ he whispers, taking my lips like they belong to him. Right now, they do. And so does every other piece of me. ‘Now I get to violate you.’ He paces out of his office with conviction, placing me on my feet sooner than I’d like. I blink repeatedly and glance around, grasping my bearings. ‘Turn around,’ he orders gently, taking my hips and encouraging me. I come face to face with the opening of the stone staircase that has been a fascination to me since the very first time I encountered it. My pulse thrums in my ears, and my trembling hands come up to rest over Becker’s on my hips as I stare into the darkness. I squeeze them, indicating where I’m at. I’m looking for reassurance, and when he closes in behind me, returning my squeeze, pushing his chest into my back, I know he’s comprehended that. ‘Don’t be scared.’ His breath tickles my ear, increasing my pulse rate.
Yes, I am a little scared. But nowhere near enough to hold me back. My muscles engage, and my right foot gingerly comes up to rest on the first step. He doesn’t push me on or express any impatience. He just manipulates our hands so they’re entwined, still held at my hips, and waits patiently for me to find whatever strength I need to negotiate the steps.
One by one, I tackle them, willingly venturing into the darkness. My legs are stable and unfaltering now, my mind accepting, yet I still feel like I’m stumbling into the unknown.
We round the circular staircase, our feet hitting the treads the only sound, until a dim light comes into view, seeping from under a wooden door.
Becker gives me one final super-squeeze of my hands and releases them, stepping to the side and swiping his card. The door creeps open, bathing us in hazy light and revealing the mystery of the glass wall that keeps guard over the Grand Hall.
Becker’s apartment.Chapter 25I take it all in on a quiet hitch of breath. It’s sparse, a massive contradiction to the rest of The Haven. The floor is black, with flecks of sparkling glass broken and engrained within the smooth marble, and the walls are covered in a graphite-grey wallpaper behind silver frames of various sizes. In every frame is a black-and-white map of a country, the smaller ones displaying islands and slighter countries, the bigger frames showcasing countries such as Russia, China and America.
‘I’d show you around, but I’m feeling a little impatient.’ He whirls me around and yanks me into him. My body crashes with his, and I look into his eyes, my breathing shallow. A light fingertip ghosts across my brow and down my cheek, Becker’s eyes trailing it, until he reaches my lips. Then he secures my nape with a firm palm and moves in, lowering his mouth to mine.
My groan of pleasure echoes in the space around us, welcoming him to do what he has full intention of doing. Possess me. I have no influence over that now. I’m vulnerable and weak. Yet somehow calm and strong.
My hands find his hair and I take the greatest of delight when he moans his pleasure, weaving through the strands and gripping harder when he ups the ante of our kiss. ‘Skin,’ he mumbles, desperately pulling at my dress. My hands free his hair and my arms rise, permitting and willing him to hurry. My dress is gone, almost as quickly as abra-fucking-cadabra, except this time it’s still in one piece. Not that I care. It’s tossed aside blindly, and then he’s up close again, burrowing into my neck while his hands locate my bra strap.
