Page 91 of Hunted

What will Van say? What will Dek do?

More importantly, how the fuck am I ever going to stop when she tastes like hope? Like purpose? Like everything I ever wanted and everything I never deserved?

How the fuck am I going to do the job that needs to be done after this?

How… when it’s the very last thing I want to do?

[ 32 ]

ADDIE

DUNCAN LA BARRE – KISS ME

In the end, it wasn’t rational thought that separated us, or the fact that I was due for another round of nanotech, but the distinct masculine ahem of somebody clearing his throat.

“I take it you approve of the red gown, Agent Beckett?” Stanley drawled, standing mere feet away from the still-very-open dressing room curtains. He crossed his arms, fighting back an amused grin, while Pyotr—seated on the grey couch behind him who I’d completely forgotten even existed—held no such reservations. His pink hair now matched his face, and no amount of hand-fanning was working to cool him down.

“G’s gonna love this little facet of information.” He smirked, whipping out his latest model iPhone, snapping a quick photo of Beck and me entwined in red fabric and lust, and tapping several buttons.

“Don’t you dare,” Beck growled, still notably tangled in my hair, my dress, my… legs?

When did they get up there?

I blushed, dropping them—or trying to. Beck’s fingers flexed possessively on my upper left thigh, keeping me tucked tightly against him, locked between his hips and the dressing room mirror. Like a caveman. And strangely, the ownership of his gaze, his hands, didn’t bother me in the least.

My core clenched, the friction achingly delicious against it, and a tiny moan escaped me.

His face snapped back to mine, his eyes dropping to my lips like they could capture the sound, bottle it, devour it whenever he liked.

Of course, he could always just do this whenever he liked, instead.

I was very vehemently unopposed to this.

“I may have already texted her,” Pyotr sang, entirely unapologetic.

“He definitely did—and I fucking knew it,” Gina purred from the doorway. She prowled over to the sofa, sinking gracefully into the cushions beside Pyotr, looking for all the world like they were a bucket of popcorn short of a show.

Eye-fucking the both of us, she murmured, “Should have brought the popcorn,” reiterating my thought aloud so immediately that I snorted.

The bulge in Beck’s pants twitched at the sound, inciting another illicit moan—and another stolen kiss.

“Please stop making those sounds, Adelaide,” he whispered, pressing a tiny kiss to the side of my neck. “Or we’ll never leave this room.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” I whispered back.

“Louder for those of us in the back!” Pyotr called.

“Yeah, exhibitionism is hot!” Gina hollered. “We need some fresh material for later!”

Beck and I both held out—until Stanley loosed a soul-withering sigh. Then, we were done for.

Laughing, Beck set me back down, but he couldn’t let go completely. His hand slid into mine, refusing to budge, not even when Stanley asked for the gown back.

“I need to press it now that you’ve got wrinkles all through the satin,” he complained, though I wasn’t entirely sure how serious he was given the awfully-hidden smiles tucked behind his faux-irritation.

“I must say, Pyotr,” Gina began, “what excellent work you do. Addie’s makeup hasn’t budged an inch.”

Pyotr immediately did an impression of a peacock—preening and wiggling his torso with glee. “Told you I’m a genius.” He waggled his brows at the two of us, evidently not even pretending to give us the illusion of privacy while I undressed.