Page 47 of Striker’s Rebel

“There?”

I don’t have enough breath left to answer.

He keeps hitting that same place, and the pressure inside me builds so quickly that my fingers dig into his shoulders.

“Striker, please.”

His thumb works my clit while his fingers move inside me, and suddenly there is nowhere for the pleasure to go.

The orgasm crashes over me.

I cry out his name, my whole body tightening around his fingers as waves of pleasure roll through me. I collapse against him, panting into his neck while my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.

I barely have time to realize I survived before Striker shifts.

“Wait.”

He moves off the couch and guides me down onto the rug.

My brain catches up just as he settles between my legs and pushes my thighs apart.

Oh.

My face burns.

“Striker.”

He looks up at me.

Whatever protest I might have had disappears when his mouth touches me.

The first stroke of his tongue sends a shock through my entire body.

I jump.

He does it again.

My fingers grab the rug.

Then his mouth focuses on my clit, his tongue circling and flicking until I can’t decide whether I want to crawl away or drag him closer.

Closer wins.

Especially when he slides two fingers back inside me.

“Jesus.”

The combination is too much.

I grab his hair.

That earns me a rough sound against my pussy that makes my hips jerk.

“Yes. Right there.”

He doesn’t stop.

His fingers move inside me while his mouth works my clit, and I’m already too sensitive from the first orgasm to have any chance of controlling this one.