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He’s not trying to get in.
What’s his game?
I don’t know, but I continue to push against him, now using my shoulder instead of my palms. ‘Let me close the door.’
‘No.’
‘What game are you playing, Becker?’ I shout. ‘We both know you could get in.’
‘I don’t want to.’ He’s hissing the words past clenched teeth, and I frown.
‘Then what the hell are you doing fighting with me?’
He shoves hard, forcing me to throw some more effort into keeping him out. ‘I don’t want to force my way in,’ he says in a snarl. ‘I want you to surrender.’
‘Not a chance.’ I snort, disgusted. Hell will freeze over before I let him past this door. Surrender? Never. Not this time. The torrent of emotions I’ve undergone since I caved into my want has been unbearable. I’m not fuelling it.
Another jar of the wood has my heels digging in further. Literally.
‘Please, Eleanor.’
I pull up but hold position, the begging in his tone settling deep. It’s a total turnabout from the hissing and spitting of a moment ago. ‘What?’
‘Surrender.’
‘Why?’ The one-word question is simple and falls past my lips without thought. I want to know, however dangerous the answer might be.
The door is thrust again in temper. ‘Because I fucking want you,’ he shouts. ‘And the moment you release this door, I’m having you, Eleanor. Every fucking bit of you. I’m not forcing my way in. You’ll let me in, because you want me just as badly.’
I gulp, my muscles seizing and holding the door. I’m not forcing my way in. Fuck . . .
‘Let me in,’ he breathes.
Let me in. My body comes to life, my blood singing in my veins. He wants me to let him in. Clarity has me releasing the door and stepping back, inviting him in, letting him in, but he doesn’t fall over the threshold like I expect. The door remains closed, me standing on one side, Becker on the other. My breathing is all over the place now, my skin damp with sweat, my cheeks flushed as I stare at the wood. Then he pushes the door and it slowly opens, and there he is. Mr Mercurial.
Dishevelled but gorgeous.
Angry but gorgeous.
Dangerous but gorgeous.
Our eyes lock, and my heart wedges itself in my throat as Becker reaches up and removes his glasses, tucking them into his pocket. ‘Invite me in,’ he murmurs, blinking slowly, his eyes lazy and angelic.
My lips part, and I step back a few paces.
‘I want to hear it, Eleanor. I want to hear you tell me you want this.’
Oh my God, what am I doing? ‘I want it.’
He’s fast, slamming the door behind him and stalking towards me, purpose seeping from every delicious piece of him. I don’t move, but let him tackle me and push me against the wall. He’s pressed into me everywhere, looking down at me, his hand on my nape to hold me in place.
He thrusts his knee between my thighs, encouraging me to spread. Which I do – no thought, no hesitation. He brings his lips close to mine, and my gaze flicks between them and his burning hazel eyes. ‘Say it again,’ he demands.
I take a deep inhale of air and lift my eyes from his mouth, up his perfect nose to his stunning eyes. ‘I want it,’ I repeat on a wisp of lusty air.
The grin that slowly creeps on to his face is wicked and victorious. ‘Say please.’
I’ve lost my mind. ‘Please,’ I whisper.
He attacks me full force, his mouth crashing to mine and instantly consuming me. My hair is tangled roughly in his grasp, his tongue plunging deeply. He’s frantic in his approach, rough and wild, his free hand finding my thigh and squeezing hard. There’s no room in my desire-drenched mind for hesitancy or second thoughts. Right now, under his demanding attention, I’m his to do with as he pleases. I’m lost. My mind has abandoned me. His lips meld with mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, it’s all reminding me of the kiss we shared in the kitchen at The Haven earlier today, except this time I know beyond doubt nothing will stop him. The all-consuming, built-up frustration is going to be sated in the best possible way. My internal muscles are already clenching in anticipation. I’m about to be violated in the most delicious way imaginable, and I have no willpower or strength remaining to fight it.
A small whimper of pleasure slips past my lips when his touch slides higher up my thigh and cups me over my knickers. ‘Shut the fuck up, Eleanor,’ he growls into my mouth, again reminding me of our kitchen encounter. The potential of him expecting me to keep quiet through what is about to happen hits me hard, though I don’t voice my concern. I’m unable to anyway, because his palm has replaced his lips over my mouth and serious eyes are boring into me. ‘I only want to hear your pleasure when I say so. Got it?’
