Peace. She found that for me, too. I’ve never felt more settled. I’ve never had so much purpose filling me. She taught me more than she’ll ever know. I was meant to find Eleanor. My quest took me all over the world, to some truly beautiful places, but the place Eleanor has taken me to will never be rivalled. She’s taken me to the most beautiful place of all. She’s taken me into her heart. All of my quirks, my obsessions, and all of my faults. And most surprisingly of all, she understands them. She understands the need in me that’ll never die. She accepts it.
So, yes, she is my Fate. I’m disregarding the teeny-tiny fact that Eleanor getting the job at my company was because I manipulated the entire process. When Dorothy told me about a girl the agency had on their books – a girl from out of town with no formal qualifications or experience working in the art world – I laughed. But then I read her CV, and I was instantly drawn in by her obvious passion for all things old. I needed to know who this woman was. So I found out all there was to know about Eleanor Cole. Then I found her. I watched her in the library, lost in endless books. I watched her roam the rooms of endless museums. I knew Dorothy needed the help, but I didn’t trust anyone in the art world to work for me. This woman, though, was unknown in the industry. She hadn’t worked in it, experienced it, seen the rivalry. She was perfect for the position, but I knew Parsonson’s would snap her up in an instant, especially if Simon Timms was heading up the interview process, the slimy piece of shit. Eleanor Cole wasn’t just notably knowledgeable, but beautiful, too. And sassy. And sexy. And intelligent. And passionate. And don’t get me started on that arse of hers. Yes, I knew she would be good for Dorothy, but I can’t deny I was also thinking with my dick.
But I really wasn’t prepared for her, and I soon realised I was out of my depth. I’d been foolish, underestimating what I was truly getting myself into. She was like a super-charged energy that shocked life into my stone heart. The fire in her eyes each time I provoked her, watching her battle to fight off the surges of desire when we argued, it was all so fucking addictive. She made me lose focus. She made me think outside of my usual box.
Now and then, clarity spontaneously shocked me back to reality, and I’d find reason for a split second, find the strength to push her away and refocus on what mattered. Except I missed our chemistry-fuelled clashes the moment I put distance between us, and the conflict began to send me wild. So I’d find a way to coax her back, and the vicious circle of lust and madness would start all over again.
The urgency to find what needed to be found took a back seat. I’d discovered something else that stole my attention. It was something that motivated me, but it was also something that scared the god-loving shit out of me. I felt something for her, and it wasn’t just a hard dick. Feelings stirred deep inside of me, the most confusing feeling being jealousy. I’d never been possessive – only over my treasure. No woman had made me question what I wanted. I’d take or leave any one of them at the drop of a hat and find a replacement just as fast. The thought of any other man so much as breathing on her had unearthed a rage in me like nothing I’d felt before. It frightened me. And I could see that it frightened her. Enough to keep her away? Because she knew deep down that I would break her heart? No. She stuck me out. I cursed her for it, and I adored her for it. She took everything I threw at her. My corrupt little witch.
And here we are now . . .
The grin on my face as she walks down the aisle actually hurts my cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so hard. She’s a vision in a simple strapless satin gown, her face naturally flawless, and her red hair glowing and tumbling over her bare shoulders. This should have happened over a year ago, but, you see, something came up.
It was quite unexpected, a bit like Eleanor was.
I look past her, my eyes homing in like a radar on my boy. He’s toddling down the aisle in a mini tux, his big, round eyes beaming. My smile stretches wider when he spots me at the end of the aisle. His hand pulls away from Lucy’s, and his chubby arms lift excitedly, his little legs picking up a pace. With Eleanor being led by my slow gramps, it doesn’t take much speed for George to overtake them. I drop to my haunches as he staggers towards me, catching him just before he takes a tumble. ‘Hey up, boy.’ I laugh, lifting him into my arms and smothering his chuckling, chubby cheeks with wet kisses.
‘Dadadadada!’ His frantic palms smack my face repeatedly, knocking my glasses askew and spiking a roar of badly contained chuckles from the congregation.
Eleanor’s mother rushes forward to claim him, but when I try to pass him over, he shouts his protest and throws his little wilful arms around my neck. ‘I’ve got him,’ I say, transferring him into my right arm so I can welcome Eleanor into my other. She releases Gramps’s hand, kisses him tenderly on the cheek, and then walks straight into my free arm, burying her face into my shoulder. I swear, there’s not one thing in the world that could feel as good as this – my boy and my woman snuggling into me. I press my lips into her temple and breathe her into me. ‘Give me a twirl,’ I order gently, forcing her away from me. She smiles that knowing smile and performs a slow spin on the spot, giving me a peek of one of my favourite assets. I blow out air on a whistle, drinking in the exquisite sight of her arse being hugged by satin. ‘Super,’ I whisper to myself.
She curtseys and takes my hand, turning us to face the priest, and the holy man instantly eyes George in my hold, but a quick nod tells him to get on with things. I have an arse dying for my attention.
‘Welcome,’ he chants, a Bible resting across his palm. ‘To the union of Eleanor and Becker.’
We stand together, our son in my arms, while the priest conducts the ceremony. Eleanor constantly squeezes my hand, and I constantly flick my gaze to hers, reminding myself that this is all so very real. Me, Becker Hunt, father and husband. They’re the craziest things of all the things to happen. And the best. The most exciting, the most satisfying. I’ve found my treasure.
‘For better, for worse,’ I breathe, repeating the priest’s words, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. ‘For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’ I pause, fighting to keep the lump in my throat from hampering my vows. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. ‘Until death do us part.’ I swallow, grateful to George when he reaches for my forehead and rubs his hand vigorously across my brow. Because now I don’t need to wipe the sheen of sweat away.
‘Are you breaking out in a nervous sweat, Hunt?’ Eleanor asks quietly, smiling up at me.
‘It’s hot in here.’ I brush off her observation before she clings on and teases me with it for the rest of our lives together.
‘You have declared your consent before the Church,’ the priest declares. ‘May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings.’
‘And treasure,’ Eleanor adds, and I grin.
‘Amen.’
‘Amen,’ the crowd repeat, and before I get the heads-up from the priest, I’m swooping in to claim my prize, kissing the ever-loving, gorgeous life out of her while George smacks us both on the head and she laughs into my mouth.
‘Um . . . you may kiss your bride,’ I hear the priest say over the ear-piercing clapping of the congregation. I only break away when I need to shift a wriggling George in my arms and, placing him on his little feet, I take Eleanor’s hand in one, George’s in my other, and walk the loves of my life out of the church.
‘Ta-dah!’ I sing, and George giggles relentlessly as I magic a shiny silver coin from behind his ear. He claps his hands in order for me to carry on, so I straighten him up on my lap and rest back on the couch, pulling my bow tie from around my neck and casting it aside. I show him the coin lying flat in my palm and he quietens down, his little, intrigued eyes studying it closely. I close my hand into a fist. ‘Tap,’ I tell him, and he smacks my hand on a shout. Then I open it up, revealing an empty palm.
‘Ta-dah!’ he shouts, bouncing up and down so vigo
rously I have to catch him quickly before he leaps from my lap. I laugh and haul him into my chest, and his little hands rest on my cheeks, his forehead meeting mine.
‘You’re gonna be a genius like your daddy,’ I tell him, nipping at his nose. ‘But no funny business. Be a good genius, you got it? I don’t want to face the wrath of your mother.’
‘No, you don’t.’
I look up and see Eleanor by the door, still graced in her gown, a warning arch to her eyebrow. ‘Hey, princess.’ I pat the couch and she pads over, dropping a kiss on George’s head as she lowers next to me.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she asks.
‘Me and George needed a time out.’
‘So you could teach him some tricks of the trade?’ She produces the silver coin from behind my ear, twiddling it between her fingers on an accusing hum.
I grin. ‘It’s just magic.’
‘And God knows where it could lead to.’
‘Maybe he’ll be the next Dynamo.’
‘More likely the next Becker Hunt.’ She nudges me playfully. That’ll never happen. I won’t let it. George will run the Hunt Corporation one day, but only the legitimate side of the business will exist by then. I promised Eleanor that, and I don’t plan on breaking it. ‘I need to get him bathed and in bed,’ Eleanor says, just as George yawns loudly.
I pout and dot his face with kisses before reluctantly passing him over. ‘Has everyone gone now?’
‘All except Dorothy. She’s helping Gramps to his room.’ Eleanor stands and sits George on her hip.
My smile is instant. And so is the blood rushing to my cock. My eyes drop and she turns teasingly, sauntering out of the library with a purposeful sway with my boy in her arms. Today has been amazing. The courtyard of my Haven has been transformed into something even more spectacular than what it already is, marquees erected, flowers everywhere, champagne flowing and the people we love flooding the space. But this time, our time, is what I’ve been looking most forward to.
Consummation. My palms tingle with excitement. ‘Be quick,’ I order, adjusting my straining trousers.
She tosses a coy look over her shoulder as she disappears through the door, causing all kinds of chaos to erupt in my groin area. ‘It’s going to be a good-fucking-night,’ I say to myself, rising to my feet.
Deciding to check up on the dogs and get myself a drink before I head for our private space, I wander down the corridor towards the kitchen, relishing in the peace surrounding me. I flip the top buttons of my shirt open and push my way into the kitchen, finding the dogs curled up in their basket. Winston gives me a moment of his attention before returning it to Clementine, licking her ear affectionately. ‘Hey, boy,’ I coo, wandering over to them and crouching. Winston gives me droopy eyes, and I swear I see concern in them. I look at a sleepy Clementine, her belly swelling massively. She’s due any day now, and while Eleanor’s girl is taking pregnancy in her stride, just like her owner did, Winston isn’t so serene. He refuses to leave Clementine’s side. Hasn’t for weeks now. I reach forward and stroke his sad face. ‘I know how you feel, buddy,’ I soothe him. ‘She’ll be fine. Stop worrying.’ I’m a fine one to talk. I didn’t leave Eleanor’s side in the last month either, and I was good for nothing when she was in labour. I’ve never felt so helpless.
I fill their water bowl and try to distract Winston from his fretting with a pig’s ear. He turns his nose up and nuzzles Clementine. ‘You should eat. I’ve only got one ankle biter and it’s fucking exhausting. You need to keep up your strength, because something tells me there’s more than one pup in there.’ Jesus, looking at the size of Clementine, there could be an army of them. I place the treat next to his paw and get myself a whisky. ‘See you in the morning, guys.’ I flick the light off and bump into Dorothy on my way out the kitchen. ‘Gramps okay?’ I ask.
‘Tired,’ she confirms, pulling her fascinator from her hair. It’s about time. Her vibrant headwear – a mix of a million different coloured spring flowers – clashes terribly with her blue rinse. I’ve had to put my shades on every time I’ve looked at her today. ‘It’s been a long day, but so wonderful!’
‘It has,’ I agree. ‘Thank you for keeping tabs on Winston and Clementine.’ She’s been fussing over them all day, going back and forth to the kitchen to make sure both are well.
‘She’s glowing,’ Mrs Potts remarks. ‘Positively glowing.’
‘Winston isn’t.’ I laugh, taking a swig of my Haig.
‘He’s a worry-wart.’ She waves a hand flippantly and pulls her giant carpet bag onto her arm. ‘I should be going.’
‘It’s late, Dorothy.’ I’m not letting her get herself home at this hour, and I’ve drunk too much to drive her. ‘Use the spare room, please.’ I walk past her before she can refuse.
‘If you insist,’ she sings happily as she gets on her way to the spare room. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Good night, Dorothy.’ I take the stairs to our private space, rounding the steps quietly, listening for any signs that George might delay my plan. It’s quiet. Beautifully fucking quiet. I grin and knock back the last of my drink, pushing through the door. I spot her immediately, standing at the foot of the glass wall looking over our grand hall, the train of her dress spread perfectly around her. She looks like a fucking goddess. Good God, just look at her. My wife. The mother of my boy. ‘You’re a lucky fucking man, Becker Hunt,’ I whisper to myself, placing my glass down blindly and approaching her quietly, seeing her shoulders rise as I near. She feels me.
‘Boo,’ I whisper, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her back. Our bodies meet and mould together, her perfect arse pushing into my groin. ‘I have something for you.’
She pushes her backside into me further. ‘I can feel it,’ she replies huskily.
Biting at her ear, I lick the outer shell and relish in her shudders. ‘Soon,’ I promise. ‘Come.’ I take her hand and pull her towards the door.
‘Where are we going?’ she asks, looking back to George’s nursery area.
‘Somewhere.’
‘But he might wake.’
I grab the intercom as I pass the shelving unit that separates our bedroom. ‘He’ll be fine.’
She comes willingly, following a few steps behind as I lead her back down to The Haven and through the corridors towards the underground garage. ‘Becker, where are we going?’ she asks again, but I ignore her pleas for information, pulling her on silently. When we reach the door to the garage, I let us in and smile as I hold it open for her. She’s frowning. Picking up the bottom of her dress, she wanders in, keeping suspicious eyes on me. ‘What are we doing in the garage?’
‘Shhhh,’ I order, holding my finger to my lips. I see the hollows of her cheeks pulse on an impatient bite. ‘This way.’ I position her carefully at the back of the only car in the garage that’s concealed by sheeting.
‘Wait,’ she says, looking to the side and noticing Gloria and my gorgeous vintage Ferrari uncovered. ‘If your favourite women are there, then what’s under here?’ she points to the car before her.
‘This, princess, is your wedding present.’ I take the sheet and pull it off, relishing in the gasp she releases. ‘Happy wedding day, Mrs Hunt.’
‘You bought me a Ferrari?’ She looks at me with wide eyes. ‘Becker!’
‘Yes, and it’s black.’ I point out the obvious. ‘Because, you know, my red one clashes with your hair.’
She laughs and runs to the driver’s side, peeking inside. ‘You trust me with it?’
I roll my eyes. This gorgeous woman has managed to scratch every car I own getting them in and out of the garage. It got to the point I had to ban her from driving all except the Audi. I never did get it repaired. There was no point until she got the hang of the hydraulic lifts. I think that day has finally come. There’s been no new scratches on the Audi for over a year, and she’
s nagged me constantly to drive my pretty red Ferrari. My face each time she asked told her the answer. ‘I trust you with it,’ I confirm, joining her by the car.
She turns and throws her arms around me. ‘I love it. Thank you.’
‘Welcome.’ I accept her appreciation for just a second before I whirl her around, pushing her front-forward onto the bonnet. She gasps, shocked. It makes me laugh on the inside. She didn’t honestly expect me to pass up this opportunity, surely? But first . . .
I pull her dress aside by her shoulder blade, tugging it down until I find what I’m looking for. I smile at the ink, the art incredible.
The missing piece of the map. I dip and kiss her tattoo, before licking up her spine to her neck.
Her hands slap on the paintwork, my front meeting her back, pressing her into the hard metal. Her body is throbbing along with mine. ‘Time to consummate your new car, princess.’ I pull her up and her hands wedge into the paintwork. I’ve fucked her over the bonnet of each of my cars. I’m not about to break tradition.
I thrust my groin into her bum, moving her hair from her neck. ‘Your arse looks fucking divine in this dress.’ My palms work up her inside thigh, and her hands ball into fists.
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Her head falls back on her shoulders, the bright, florescent lights of the garage forcing her to close her eyes. I smile wickedly and reach down, gathering up the pool of white satin and pulling it up to her waist. My fingers slip between her legs and sink into her wetness, making that delectable arse fly back. I’m solid. Ready. But I continue priming her, my fingers massaging gently as I suck at the creamy skin of her neck, my hips rolling expertly into her backside over and over, driving her wild with impatience. ‘Becker,’ she whimpers.
‘It’s coming, princess.’ I begin to fuck her with my fingers, plunging deep, circling wide, withdrawing slowly, as her moans ring out loud. The sound, good Lord, the sound.
Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology Book 2) Page 42
