Page 36 of Striker’s Rebel

June doesn’t pull away.

She grips me harder.

My cock is pressed against her now, no hiding what I want.

Her breath catches against my mouth.

But she doesn’t move back.

Fuck.

I drag my lips from hers to her jaw.

Her head tips, offering me more.

I kiss the soft skin below her ear and feel her shiver.

“Striker.”

The way she says my name nearly strips the last bit of sense out of me.

I want her on that bed.

Want those bare legs around me.

Want to find out how many times I can make her say my name before she forgets every other word she knows.

Then my hand shifts.

My thumb brushes close to the bruise.

Reality lands.

I stop, not because I want to, but because if I keep going, stopping gets a hell of a lot harder.

June opens her eyes.

Her lips are swollen.

Cheeks flushed.

She looks thoroughly kissed and nowhere near satisfied.

Good.

Neither am I.

“Why did you stop?”

My grip tightens on her waist.

“Because I want you to be sure.”

“I am.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth.

Jesus.